CHAPTER 225: CHAPTER 225: A CALL THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

~Evric’s POV~

"Evric, step out. Leave me and your brother alone."

I nodded once, shot a venomous look at Evans, and pushed out of the office.

I found Zayn in the massive living room, exactly where my father had told him to wait. He wasn’t alone. He was sitting with my sister, they were talking in low, intense tones, their heads close together. Nuala was gesturing with a precise, careful movement of her hand, and Zayn was listening with rapt, worried attention.

I carefully walked closer to where they were having their conversation, trying not to interrupt the quiet intensity of their discussion.

I reached out and gently touched Zayn’s arm. "Excuse me," I said quietly, addressing Nuala. "I need to speak with Zayn for a moment."

Zayn instantly turned to me, his eyes searching mine, absorbing the visible strain and residual anger from the office. He gave Nuala a quick, apologetic look.

"Excuse us," he murmured to my sister.

He didn’t wait for her reply. He let me guide him away from the judgmental eyes of the Draevon clan, pulling him toward a secluded, curtained alcove by the far windows, the only place in the entire house where we could hope for a few minutes of private, desperate conversation.

The moment the heavy velvet curtain fell behind us, I pulled Zayn into a fierce, desperate embrace. I just held him for a long, silent moment, burying my face in his hair, the scent of him grounding me after the venom of the meeting.

Zayn didn’t resist; he clung to me just as tightly. Then, he gently pulled back, his eyes searching mine, his thumb brushing a stray tear I hadn’t realized I was crying.

"Babe, what happened?" he whispered, his voice thick with worry.

I took a shaky breath and quickly summarized everything: Father’s quiet fury, the statement he demanded, and the brutal verbal attacks from Evans about favoritism and recklessness. "Evans called me useless and accused me of destroying the company’s legacy because I panicked over a man," I finished, my throat burning with the words. "He made it clear he thinks I’m only protected because I’m Father’s favorite, and that I’m dragging everyone down."

I waited for Zayn to defend me, but instead, he reached out and cradled my head, pulling me back into his shoulder.

"Oh, Evric," he murmured.

He held me tighter, then pulled back to look me in the eyes. "Evans isn’t wrong to be angry, babe. You made a huge, public decision that affected their livelihood, and you did it impulsively because you were scared. You have to understand their reaction. It hurts to hear, I know, but you have to admit, he’s not entirely wrong about the favoritism. You are your father’s favorite."

"Do you understand?" Zayn asked gently.

I nodded, the single, "Yes."

Zayn kissed my forehead, his touch gentle but steady, accepting the weight of my mistake while still offering unwavering support.

"He said softly. "Remember, we don’t worry about anything else, we worry about us. The statement is out, and whatever comes next, we face it together."

He wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me into a hug.

"We have to go," I whispered against his ear.

Zayn pulled back slightly, confusion furrowing his brow. "Why? Are you done with your father?"

I shook my head. "No, I just... I need to go back. I need us to be home now."

Zayn didn’t question it further, he nodded, his resolve instantly matching mine. "Okay," he said.

We pulled apart, Zayn giving a final, decisive look towards the office door. We walked swiftly and quietly out of the living room. We left the Draevon estate and drove straight back to the sanctuary of our house.

We spent the rest of the day in a bubble. We showered together, washed away the tense atmosphere of the meeting, and immediately climbed into bed. We cuddled, talked in hushed voices, and simply existed in each other’s space.

That night and the entire next day, nothing happened. We expected the deluge, the immediate bad news, the angry calls, the social media breakdown, but all was quiet. No one from my work partners contacted me.

On the second morning, Zayn hesitantly checked in on his restaurant. He called Doreen, his manager, bracing himself for news of mass cancellations or a flood of hate messages.

"Doreen? How bad is it?" Zayn asked, wringing his hands.

Doreen’s voice was surprisingly calm.

"Bad? Boss, it’s the opposite! We’ve had a surge in business. Sure, a few people came in yesterday just to cause trouble and leave bad reviews, but they were completely drowned out. We have more customers than ever! People are coming to show support, some even ask for you by name, saying they want to eat at the restaurant of ’the best chef in the city.’"

The news brought a brilliant, astonished smile to Zayn’s face. My impulsive action, though reckless, had not affected Zayn’s restaurant negatively; in fact, it boosted its popularity.

For me, the fallout began in earnest that same day.

Mr Karl, called me. His voice was grim. "Evric, I have to inform you that several of the non-profit and religiously affiliated construction projects you were spearheading have put their work on immediate hold."

The first hit was to my personal reputation and ventures, those projects I was most passionate about. The religious and conservative partners I’d been working with could not publicly support a man who had ’flaunted’ his lifestyle.

However, the main projects, the biggest projects we just launched that are directly tied to Draeven Holding’s core profits, were silent. The heavy-hitters were waiting for my father’s official directive before making a move. My personal business was failing, but the larger corporation hadn’t yet been wounded. The slow downfall had begun from my own personal sphere.

Yet, all this downfall had a muted effect on me. Because through it all, I had Zayn by my side, steady, patient, and endlessly supportive. He had been with me through the thick and hard times, his quiet strength grounding me when everything else fell apart. I didn’t feel broken at all; I only focused on Zayn’s face, his unwavering presence, and the gentle comfort of our pets, Milo and Miso—the small, peaceful world we built together.

All we did was stay home and enjoy each other’s company, savoring the peaceful final moments before the public storm truly broke.

On the third night, just as we were settling in to watch a movie, Zayn’s phone rang, it was a frantic, familiar number.

He answered cautiously. "Hello?"

Within seconds, his face drained of color, his body going rigid. "Liana? What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice trembling as he covered his mouth, eyes wide with fear. "Since this morning? Which hospital? ...Okay, I’ll be on my way first thing tomorrow."

The call ended, and the phone slipped from his hand, clattering onto the floor. The sound echoed in the silent room. He turned to me, tears already streaming down his face.

"Evric," he choked out, voice breaking, "my mom... Liana said she’s been in the hospital since this morning. I have to travel home tomorrow."