CEO loves me with all his soul.-Chapter 149. The day of Blossoms.

Chapter 149: 149. The day of Blossoms.
Adrian stopped Zara. "Auntie...let’s just leave the past as it is."
Ethan nodded and sighed. "Auntie, I know you want our betterment...but we are now more involved in the future."
Zara sighed and smiled. "Let this conversation be buried here."
Ethan and Adrian sighed together, let the bygones be the bygones.
A beautiful future awaited them.
Zara had nostalgic smile in her eyes and nodded and the two kids who grew up to be adults in front of her eyes.
.
Another year passed...
The day began in silence.
There were no birdsong melodies fluttering through the garden, no chimes dancing in the breeze. The usual sound of little feet running down the grand hallway of Levistis Manor had stilled. Even the wind, it seemed, paused at the edge of the orchard—mourning with them.
Jesper Sebanil had passed away in his sleep the night before.
His breath had grown shallower by the week, his once-silver hair turned snow-white and thinner still. His laughter, ever radiant, had softened like the rustling of fading pages. And now, he was gone.
The family gathered in the greenhouse where Jesper once nurtured delicate blue orchids with trembling fingers. His final resting place was surrounded by light.
Adrian stood quietly, his hand tucked tightly into Ethan’s. The two were dressed in simple black robes. Adrian’s silver eyes, usually luminous, looked dulled today—lost, almost.
"Papa raised me," Adrian whispered to the flowers.
Ethan pulled him closer, kissing the top of his head.
"I know."
Beside them stood
Seraphina and Aurelius
, now eleven. Seraphina’s long black hair was tied in a braided halo, her expression still, mature beyond her age. Aurelius fought the tears, biting the inside of his cheek as he clutched a folded origami butterfly—he’d made it last night for Jesper, not knowing he’d never get to give it to him.
Near the row of ivy-trimmed seats stood
Eira
, now eight.
The little girl held a small, leather-bound book in her arms. It was one Jesper had once given her—a book of stars, myths, and constellations. Her golden hair framed her thoughtful face as she hugged it tightly.
"He said I was born in a constellation’s breath," she said quietly to Seraphina.
"You were," Seraphina replied softly. "And now he’s gone back to it."
Near the back of the room, beside a flowering camellia bush, sat a boy.
He was five. His eyes, dark and wide, followed the petals that fell from a branch above his head. He didn’t speak. He never had.
He was Adrian and Ethan’s
youngest son
—quiet, unassuming, and often missed by the guests because of his stillness. But his eyes... his eyes saw everything. His world was different. Full of light and shadow, silence and wonder.
Eira often read to him. She said he listened better than anyone.
He didn’t cry now. He didn’t speak Jesper’s name. But when the others looked away, he reached out and gently caught a petal in his palm. He held it for a long time.
As if he understood.
As if he were saying goodbye.
.
After the ceremony, the family gathered in the common lounge. The house that had once held battles, plans, and sorrow now held growing children, blooming marriages, and legacies shaped by years of survival and resilience.
Luri
, once Isaac’s best friend and loyal shadow to the family, now stood with
Yuin
, her husband. Their seven-year-old daughter,
Isha
, ran her fingers along the wood grain of an antique chessboard.
"She’s just like you," Luri whispered to Yuin.
"No," Yuin smiled faintly. "She has your quiet strength. She thinks before speaking."
Isha wandered over to Eira and Aurelius, shyly handing Eira a smooth blue stone.
"A stone for your book?" she asked.
Eira nodded. "It’s beautiful. Thank you."
In the corner near the veranda,
Jaya
held her five-year-old son in her arms while
Savas Faust
, her equally chaotic and brilliant husband, animatedly told the boy a story about knights, dragons, and something absurd involving a mechanical parrot.
"He gets wilder every day," Jaya murmured.
"He’s perfect," Savas replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Across the room,
Diana
sat on a floor cushion, her three-year-old twin girls curled against her lap. Her husband
Argos
, ever the stoic ex-soldier, watched over them like a fortress carved from stone.
They all had changed.
And yet, none of them had forgotten.
Later that evening, Adrian walked to the study alone.
The fire crackled low, casting shadows over the room Jesper once called "his cave of warmth." Adrian walked slowly, fingers brushing old books, picture frames, dried herbs Jesper had once tied with ribbon.
Then, gently, he placed a small painting on the desk.
It was of Jesper, seated in the garden, sunlight wrapped around him like a crown. The twins were playing in the background. The youngest boy sat in Jesper’s lap, smiling.
It was the only time Adrian had captured that smile.
Adrian stepped back and inhaled deeply.
"I’m still painting, Papa," he whispered. "Even now."
Ethan appeared at the doorway, a mug in each hand.
"I figured you’d come here."
Adrian smiled faintly. "This place is full of him."
"I like to think he’s still watching. Proud."
They sat together, sipping tea in silence.
Their youngest son wandered in minutes later, silent, barefoot, and carrying a small music box. He climbed into Adrian’s lap without a word, curled like a cat, and pressed the music box into Adrian’s hands.
Adrian wound it.
A soft melody filled the air—Jesper’s favorite lullaby.
The boy closed his eyes.
On the balcony upstairs, Isaac leaned against the railing, looking out over the quiet orchard. Lucas stepped beside him, gently looping their hands together.
"Ten years," Isaac murmured.
Lucas nodded. "I remember the storm that night."
"I thought I’d lost everything," Isaac said. "Then I gained all of you."
"And now I have lost my...father."
Isaac sighed. "I hated him for leaving me in childhood. But he made Adrian who he is. He raised our family. I just... I wish I’d had more time."
Lucas rested his head on Isaac’s shoulder.
"Then let’s make the most of the time we have."
.
.
To improve Isaac’s mood, They went to meet their friends.
Isaac had fought mercenaries. Lucas had defused bombs in makeshift clinics with one hand while holding a sedated teenager in the other. They’d chased criminals, cracked codes, survived heartbreak, kidnappings, wars.
But nothing—absolutely
nothing
—prepared them for what they were about to walk into at
Leclair and Augustin’s house
.
They were only there for a friendly visit.
No secret missions. No bloodshed. Just tea, laughter, and maybe a memory or two.
That was the plan.
The moment they stepped inside, however, it was clear they’d entered a war zone.
Not a
real
one, of course.
Just a hilariously cold, pasta-based marital standoff.
The front door clicked shut behind them as they stepped into the beautifully minimalist foyer of the house. It was too quiet.
"Leclair?" Isaac called, raising an eyebrow. "Augustin?"
From the living room came the unmistakable sound of someone setting down a porcelain cup with
extreme
passive aggression.
Then a voice—icy, low, and completely calm.
"He’s here. I’m in the living room. Don’t mind my husband. He’s pouting."
A chair
scraped
. Firm, stomping footsteps followed.
"I am not pouting," Augustin snapped from the kitchen. "I’m
mourning
."
Lucas glanced at Isaac. "Uh oh. Domestic drama?"
"Sounds like it."
They stepped into the room.
Leclair sat cross-legged on the cream-colored sofa in a perfectly ironed linen shirt and slacks, sipping tea as if he wasn’t the center of emotional warfare. Augustin stood by the open kitchen archway, arms crossed, apron still on, hair slightly tousled like he’d pulled it in frustration.
"Did we walk into something?" Isaac asked, blinking.
"Yes," Augustin said darkly. "Walked into betrayal."
"Oh, here we go again," Leclair sighed.
Lucas covered his mouth, already stifling a laugh.
"You see," Augustin said dramatically, pacing in front of the coffee table like a disappointed Shakespearean wife, "I came home late after two meetings and a supply run. Tired. Hungry. Soul weary. I ordered my one joy from my favorite place—the spicy angel hair pasta with basil chili oil. And I left it in the fridge. Marked. Labeled. Sealed."
Isaac sat down, fascinated. "And?"
Leclair didn’t even blink. "And I ate it."
Augustin let out a strangled noise. "You
devoured
it!"
"It was there," Leclair said, tone dry. "I thought we were married and shared food."
"
Not that pasta!
It’s sacred. You’ve
mocked
the chili gods."
"It wasn’t
that
spicy," Leclair added.
"You cleansed your
sinuses
with it and still said ’mmm’ like it was divine!"
Lucas choked.
Leclair lifted his chin. "To be fair, I didn’t know the restaurant closed at night."
Isaac leaned toward Augustin. "Wait, it really does?"
"Yes! They only open from noon to five. It’s their whole
thing
! They’re food elitists! And now I won’t taste it again for a week!"
Lucas blinked. "Isn’t it just pasta?"
Augustin rounded on him. "
Lucas
, I love you, but never say ’just pasta.’ This isn’t pasta. This is emotional therapy in a bowl."
Isaac looked between them both and muttered, "I came for tea, not trauma."