Chapter 198 Mr. Thorne Is in a Bad Mood

Chapter 198: Chapter 198 Mr. Thorne Is in a Bad Mood

​The door of the bedroom swung open with a low, quiet creak.

​Veyra remained completely motionless beneath the thick duvet, her ears strained to catch every tiny sound in the space. She heard his footsteps hit the dark floorboards. They were steady and measured, carrying a familiar weight that made her pulse quicken.

​She pulled the soft fabric of the covers tighter around her shoulders, refusing to move so much as a muscle. She held her breath, keeping as still as humanly possible.

​The steps crossed the center of the room, passing right by the edge of the large bed without stopping, and continued toward the private bathroom entrance.

​The bathroom door clicked open, then closed shut behind him.

​Only when the latch secured did Veyra finally let out a long, quiet breath through her lips.

​Even so, her body refused to relax until the sharp hiss of the shower echoed through the door, followed by the soft metallic click of the lock turning in place.

​She was safe from an awkward encounter. At least for the time being.

​Reaching out from beneath the warm blankets, she reached over to the top drawer of her wooden nightstand.

​Her fingers quickly located two specific items she had placed there earlier: a fresh pair of soft noise-canceling earplugs and a thick, dark eye mask.

​She put both items on without wasting a single second. The earplugs instantly muffled the dull rushing sound of the shower water running behind the wall. The dark eye mask blocked out the narrow beam of light leaking from beneath the bathroom door.

​She could no longer see his towering frame. She could no longer hear his movements. She could no longer feel his cold, intense presence hovering in the room.

​Underneath those dark layers, she could easily pretend he was not in the room with her at all.

​She had personally bought those two small items from a nearby shop the very morning after their silent war first broke out.

​In her mind, she considered them absolutely essential survival gear whenever a married couple fell into a bitter, unspoken disagreement.

​Earplugs. Eye mask. The ultimate protective shield for dodging unwanted interactions.

​A tiny, faint smile almost touched her lips at the ridiculous nature of her setup. Almost.

​Yet the deep exhaustion in her bones quickly wiped the feeling away. She was simply far too drained to laugh, too tired to cry about their broken relationship, and too worn out to do anything other than lie flat on her back and wait for sleep to take her.

​On the other side of the frosted glass door, Dorian stood completely still under the overhead showerhead.

​The water pouring down over his broad shoulders was freezing cold, yet he made zero effort to turn the chrome knob toward a warmer setting.

​He had not slept a single full hour over the past two days and two long nights. This ongoing silent war with Veyra had utterly destroyed his ability to rest.

​Every single time he closed his eyes in the dark, her image immediately flashed across his mind. He saw her turned back, her face hidden beneath the blankets, and her absolute refusal to speak to him.

​Until this point, he had never truly recognized how much he had come to rely on her custom sleep-aid blend. That tiny brown glass bottle he had so foolishly thrown into the garbage bin had been his only source of rest.

​He had failed to realize just how deeply her quiet presence had settled into his daily life.

​After several long minutes under the icy spray, he turned off the faucet, stepped out onto the bathmat, and wrapped a thick towel around his waist.

​He wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror with his palm and stared directly at his own reflection.

​The white parts of his eyes were heavily bloodshot from lack of rest, the skin across his high cheekbones looked noticeably pale, and his jawline was locked tight with deep tension.

​He looked like a man standing on the very brink of a complete physical crash.

​Years of chronic sleeplessness, an overwhelming corporate workload, and a quiet wife who refused to look him in the eye were all piling up on his shoulders at once.

​He was breaking down from the inside, slowly and quietly.

​And worst of all, he had zero clue how to put a stop to it.

​Early the next morning, Dorian stepped out of his private elevator and walked through the main doors of the Zeus Group corporate headquarters.

​The moment his tall frame appeared, the massive, lively entrance hall fell into an uncomfortable, dead silence.

​He walked past the grand marble reception counter, past the standing security guards, and past the rows of executive assistants without glancing left or right.

​Not a single employee dared to speak a word. No one made direct eye contact with him, and everyone made sure to breathe as quietly as possible.

​Every single person working at Zeus Group could tell from a single glance that Mr. Thorne was in a truly terrifying, terrible mood today.

​Before noon had even arrived, he had harshly barked at his senior secretary over a minor formatting error, flatly rejected three major project proposals, and canceled two high-level board meetings. To make matters worse, he personally fired an experienced branch manager on the spot over an insignificant scheduling delay.

​The entire executive floor was walking on eggshells, terrified of triggering his sharp temper.

​Yet the most infuriating part for Dorian was the thought of Veyra sleeping peacefully in her bed every night while he tossed and turned.

​She was not affected by this cold distance in the slightest. She was not losing a single minute of rest, nor was she suffering through exhausting nights like he was.

​She was doing completely fine on her own.

​Meanwhile, his whole world was falling apart at the seams.

​When the next morning rolled around, Veyra decided to skip her usual early morning target practice session at the range.

​She needed to head straight down to her new shop space. Mia, Megan, and Jade were already waiting for her there so they could go over the updated interior layout plans together.

​She dressed in simple clothing, grabbed her hand leather bag, and made her way toward the bedroom doorway.

​However, right before turning the brass handle, she hesitated and paused in her tracks.

​She had zero desire to run into the rest of the Thorne family downstairs. They constantly treated her with cold indifference, ignored her presence at the dining table, and went out of their way to make her feel like a total outsider in their home.

​Over the past few months, she had carefully memorized their daily routines down to the exact minute. She knew precisely when they sat down for breakfast, when they stepped out the door, and when the main hall cleared out.

​She stood near the top of the stairs, listening carefully to the faint clatter of dishes below. She waited until she heard the old matriarch finish her morning tea and the servants clear off the dining table.

​Only when the main hall went quiet did she choose to walk downstairs.

​The grand living room was completely empty and quiet.

​Veyra kept her steps light and her head low, making her way directly toward the wide front entrance doors.

​She was only a few feet away from reaching the exit.

​"Veyra."

​A dry, stern voice echoed across the quiet space, calling her name.

​Veyra stopped dead in her tracks.

​She took a soft breath, turned her body around, and looked toward the corner of the room.

​The Thorne family matriarch was sitting quietly in her customized wheelchair beside a large indoor plant, a heavy knitted blanket draped neatly across her knees. Her sharp eyes were fixed directly on Veyra’s face.

​"I thought you had already finished your breakfast and retired to your quarters," Veyra said, keeping her tone respectful and even.

​"I finished eating some time ago," the old woman replied, her voice slow and steady. "I deliberately stayed behind in the living room to wait for you."

​Veyra felt her heart sink slightly, a faint feeling of dread rising in her chest.

​"Is there something I can do for you?"

​The matriarch stayed silent for a moment, probing Veyra’s features with a sharp, curious gaze.

​"It is about Dorian," the old woman stated plainly. "He has been in an exceptionally foul, dangerous mood these past few days."

​Veyra blinked her eyes in quiet surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

​"His temper is completely unmanageable," the matriarch continued, her brow furrowing slightly. "Everyone in this household has noticed it. The senior servants, the extended family, and even his personal driver are terrified to step near him."

​She paused, leaning forward slightly in her chair.

​"Do you happen to know what is going on with him?"

​Veyra stood perfectly still, staring back at the old woman in silence.

​She genuinely had no answer to offer.

​She had been going out of her way to dodge him for days, hiding under her blankets every night, and avoiding speaking a single sentence to him since their silent conflict began.

​She had absolute zero knowledge as to why he was throwing fits at his office or acting so unapproachable. She did not know if his dark mood was caused by some trouble at her end, or if it stemmed from high-pressure corporate problems at his company.

​She knew virtually nothing about Dorian’s current situation or what was going on inside his head.

​"I honestly do not know," Veyra answered truthfully, keeping her voice level.

​The matriarch’s dark eyes narrowed into thin slits. "You do not know?"

​"No, I do not."

​"You are his lawful wife, living under the exact same roof."

​"I am aware of that."

​"Then how on earth can you stand there and tell me you have no idea why your own husband is acting this way?"

​Veyra opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, so she quickly closed it again.

​She simply did not possess a proper answer to satisfy the old woman’s questioning.

​She knew nothing about Dorian’s situation and didn’t understand why the matriarch was asking her.