Chapter 162: Chapter 162

The soft click echoed into the hallway. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and old wood. Familiar. Distant. Painful.

From inside, a warm voice called out, "Leon?"

His mother appeared from the corner, apron dusted with flour. Her eyes lit up as soon as she saw them.

"Oh," she smiled, stepping forward, arms open. "You brought him."

Billy nodded, his expression softening. She hugged him quickly, then pulled back and looked at Artur.

"You’re welcome Artur. Thank you for coming," she said gently.

Artur gave a small bow, nervous but respectful. "Thank you for having me."

Her smile lingered, a little sad at the edges. "Camila’s out with friends. It’s just us tonight."

Then her eyes flickered toward the living room.

Billy followed her gaze.

There he was. His father, sitting in his usual chair. One arm resting on the polished woodrest, the other holding the evening paper, though his eyes hadn’t moved from the doorway since they entered.

So this is the man who heard of Artur... but had yet to lay eyes on him.

Billy felt his throat dry.

"Come," his mother said softly, "you’re both welcome."

Artur stood still beside Billy, straight and quiet, dressed simply but clean. His gaze was steady—no arrogance, no apology.

His father lowered the paper, slow, deliberate.

His eyes scanned Artur with a kind of sharp, wordless calculation. A soldier assessing a stranger on his land.

Billy stepped forward. "Dad... this is Artur."

No handshake offered. No words returned. Just silence, cool and brittle.

Billy’s jaw flexed. "We spoke yesterday. You said not now. Well... this is now."

Billy looked down for a second, then up again. "We called off the engagement, Dad. Eleanor and I... it wasn’t real. Not anymore. It hurt. I know. But I couldn’t lie."

His father’s mouth tightened. "You disappeared for months. You came back to end everything we arranged. Then got wheeled into a hospital and nearly died."

Billy took a shaky breath. "And when I woke up... Artur was there. And I knew. He’s what’s real to me."

His father’s eyes finally shifted—just slightly—toward Artur again. "And you think bringing him here changes anything?"

"I didn’t bring him to change you," Billy said quietly. "I brought him so you could see me. For the first time. Without expectations. Without lies. Just me."

The room was thick with silence. Not cruel. But deep. Heavy.

His mother stepped in, placing a hand on Billy’s back.

"He’s home," she said to her husband. "And He’s not asking for forgiveness. He’s just... done hiding."

Still, his father said nothing.

But he didn’t leave the room.

Billy turned to Artur. "Come. Let’s go to my room for now."

Artur gave a nod. But before they could move, his father’s voice, low and firm, filled the air.

"You said this is who you are now."

"Then don’t hide. Sit."

Billy froze. Artur’s eyes widened slightly.

They turned slowly. His father gestured once—to the couch across from him.

Not warmth. Not welcome.

But maybe... the beginning of something.

Billy’s knees almost buckled. He looked to Artur—neither seeking permission nor reassurance, just... courage. "Let’s sit."

And for the first time, not as a son trying to please—but as a man standing in his truth—Billy sat across from his father, with Artur at his side.

The room stood still for a long second. Carlos’s eyes flicked from Billy to Artur, then back again, his jaw tightening.

He set the remote down slowly, a heavy breath leaving him as though trying to summon patience.

"You really think this is love?" his voice was steady but sharp, slicing through the quiet. "You canceled the engagement, walked away from everything, just to be with a man. Have you truly thought about your future? Both of you?"

Billy didn’t flinch this time. He sat upright, eyes locked with his father’s, the same eyes he once feared to meet.

"Yes," Billy said firmly. "I’ve thought about it every single day. And I still choose him. Over and over."

"Because this—what Artur and I have—it’s real. It’s honest. And I’m not going to spend my life living a lie just to make everyone else comfortable."

His father’s mouth opened again, ready to speak, but Billy pressed on.

"I see a future with him. Not just because I love him, but because he stayed. When I was lost, he stood beside me. I won’t apologize for choosing someone who sees me for who I am. There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with us."

Carlos leaned back, lips pursed, a storm flickering behind his gaze. He looked like he was about to argue again, until—

"Enough, Carlos." Luciana’s voice cut in, soft but firm, carrying the weight of a mother who had nearly lost her son once and wasn’t willing to lose him again.

She stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Billy’s shoulder, her gaze holding Carlos’s with quiet strength. "We lost him once. We don’t get a second chance if we choose pride over love again."

She turned to Billy, her expression warm and unwavering. "He came back to us. He’s choosing to live his truth. That should be enough."

Then her eyes returned to Carlos, her voice low but full of resolve. "I’m ready to accept whoever he loves—if that means we don’t lose him again. I won’t risk that. Not now. Not ever. He’s our son. And if the world decides to stand against him, we should be the ones standing beside him, not against him."

Carlos looked at her, something faltering in his eyes. His gaze dropped slightly, and for the first time since they stepped in, he didn’t have an answer. Just silence.

Carlos said nothing, his jaw working, but no words came.

Artur hadn’t spoken since they entered, out of respect—or maybe hesitation.

But now, seeing the tension weighing on Billy’s shoulders, he quietly stood and stepped closer.

"I may not be who you imagined for your son. But I’m not here to take him away. I’m here because I love him—for who he is. All of him."

"I won’t ask for approval. But I’ll always earn his trust."

"The one who wakes up every morning wondering if he deserves happiness. The one who still tries to be strong even when he’s falling apart."

He turned slightly to glance at Billy, just for a second—and his eyes softened.

"I’ll never ask you for approval. But I’ll always fight to deserve his trust. That’s a promise."

Carlos looked at him, not with warmth, but something in his gaze shifted—slightly. Less resistance. More reckoning.

Billy gently reached for Artur’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

Luciana smiled softly, her hand now resting on Carlos’s arm, as if to remind him—this is your son’s truth... not a phase, not a rebellion. Just love.

No one spoke for a moment. The room didn’t need words just yet.

Then Billy broke the silence, his tone softer now.

"This is who I am, Dad. And I’m not afraid of being seen anymore."

Carlos looked up at him—then at their joined hands.

The silence stretched, not cold... but heavy with decades of expectations, crumbling quietly in the corners of the room.

Carlos looked at their joined hands again—like staring at a language he didn’t speak, but wanted to learn. "I still don’t understand this..."

Not quite acceptance. But no longer resistance.

Luciana’s smile trembled, and she turned, pulling Billy into a soft embrace.

"You’ve already come so far," she whispered. "Now let the rest follow."

The dining table was already set—quiet elegance beneath the soft glow of the overhead lights.

The clinking of plates and silverware filled the room as Luciana moved with practiced grace, placing down a warm dish in front of each of them.

Billy sat beside Artur, shoulders lighter now, though the weight of the evening still lingered in his eyes.

"You used to love this," his mother said with a soft smile, ladling soup into a bowl. "You’d eat three servings without breathing."

Billy chuckled under his breath. "I still might."

Luciana’s gaze rested on him a moment longer, as if memorizing him—his laughter, his appetite, the way his hand rested comfortably beside Artur’s on the table.

"I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you back at this table," she said, her voice low but steady. "Let alone ."

Billy met her eyes gently. "I wasn’t sure either."

Luciana reached across the table, brushing her fingers against his wrist.

"I’m glad you came back. And I’m even more glad you came back... whole."

Artur stayed quiet, respectful, but his presence was steady—offering support without needing to be the center of the moment.

They were just starting to eat when the front door opened with a sudden rush of wind.

Camila’s voice echoed from the hallway. "Why do I smell food and emotional trauma?"

She appeared in the doorway, pausing dramatically with one eyebrow raised.

Her eyes quickly scanned the table, and then settled on Billy and Artur seated side by side.

"Well," she said, folding her arms. "What did I miss?"

Billy froze with a spoon halfway to his mouth.

Luciana, however, didn’t miss a beat. "Dinner. And a lot of silence finally being broken."

Camila’s gaze shifted to her brother, a small grin tugging at the corner of her lips. "You brought him home," she said, glancing at Artur. "Brave." Thumb up.

"Hi," Artur said gently, offering a nod.

Camila stepped forward, tossed her bag on the nearby chair, and stole a bite from Billy’s plate like nothing in the world was unusual.

"Tastes like drama with a hint of peace," she muttered playfully. "Good sign."

Billy gave her a look—half annoyed, half amused. "Could you not?"

Camila grinned. "Relax. I’m just glad you stopped running."

Luciana sat down beside them and finally lifted her own spoon. "Now sit. Eat. We’ve had enough truth for one night. Let’s just... be."

The air softened again, tension melting slowly into the hum of conversation and the clatter of shared plates.

For once, everything felt almost—normal.