CEO loves me with all his soul.-Chapter 155. A Girl’s First Winter Without Flowers

Chapter 155: 155. A Girl’s First Winter Without Flowers
The youngest of the four children, Aron moved through the world softly — like he was afraid to leave a footprint. At five and a half, he spoke little but observed much. His wide black eyes, so similar to Ethan’s, would linger on things most people never noticed — the flicker of candlelight, the slow spiral of a leaf caught in the wind, the faint hum of the stars above.
Adrian always said that Aron was a quiet miracle. Ethan never corrected him.
Aron had a small telescope by his bedroom window. It wasn’t fancy — just a gift from Isaac last year — but he treated it with reverence. Every night, he would sit by the window and stare at the sky, whispering names of constellations under his breath like lullabies.
"He’s obsessed," Seraphina said one morning, chewing toast. "Like, I tried to tell him about planets and he corrected me."
"He’s not obsessed," Adrian replied, sipping tea. "He’s just... curious."
Ethan looked up from his tablet. "He’s five. He wants to go to space. Let him dream."
"Yeah, well, he cried when I told him astronauts don’t have cats," Eira added from under the table where she was building a cardboard spaceship.
But that day, something changed.
Aron didn’t eat his breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.
Adrian noticed first. He crouched down beside Aron in the living room, where the boy was curled in his little beanbag chair.
"Sweetheart? Are you not hungry?"
Aron blinked up at him. "I want to go to the sky house."
Adrian tilted his head. "The what?"
"The sky house," Aron repeated, tapping his fingers together nervously. "The one with all the stars. You said it has the moon rocks. And real planets. I want to go. Please."
Adrian’s heart tightened.
"Oh. You mean the
science museum
."
Aron nodded with solemn intensity.
Adrian glanced back at Ethan, who had overheard from the doorway. The two fathers locked eyes.
They had been so cautious about outings lately — especially after all the events from the past year. But Aron wasn’t like the other children. He didn’t throw tantrums or argue. He simply stopped... doing. And that silence was its own kind of protest.
Ethan walked over and knelt beside them.
"If we take you," he said gently, "you have to promise to eat tomorrow. And sleep tonight."
"I will," Aron said immediately.
"Deal," Adrian whispered, smoothing Aron’s hair.
.
.
The building shimmered like a silver dome nestled in the heart of the city. High ceilings mimicked constellations, and holograms of galaxies turned slowly overhead like ancient clockwork.
Aron didn’t speak much once they arrived. But his eyes lit up in a way Ethan hadn’t seen in weeks.
He lingered at the meteorite display, traced tiny fingers along a replica of Mars’ topography, and stood completely still as a holographic Saturn spun above him.
Adrian and Ethan kept their distance — letting him explore, watching every soft smile he made.
It was in the observatory wing that something unexpected happened.
A man stood alone near the star chart projection, tapping on a touchscreen with one hand while holding a datapad in the other. He had silver-streaked hair tied back loosely, a tall frame draped in a long blue coat, and half-moon glasses perched on his nose.
He looked up when he noticed Aron approaching.
"Careful," he said gently, "this area’s a bit—oh."
He stopped as Aron stood before the projection of a collapsing star.
"That’s the one that turns into a black hole, right?" Aron said quietly, eyes fixed on the image.
The man raised an eyebrow. "You know about gravitational collapse?"
Aron nodded. "It dies and then eats light."
The man laughed. Not mockingly — more out of stunned delight.
"Well. That’s one way to say it."
Adrian and Ethan hurried over, concerned.
"I’m sorry," Adrian began, "he has a habit of wandering when he’s—"
"It’s fine," the man said, waving a hand. "Actually, this is quite refreshing. Most five-year-olds talk about dinosaurs. Yours talks about dying stars."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Who exactly are you?"
The man extended a hand.
"
Xilian Zephyr. Astrophysics division, chief research associate. I help run the space outreach program here.
"
Ethan’s eyes widened slightly. He knew the name. Zephyr was something of a legend — often reclusive, occasionally controversial, but brilliant.
Zephyr knelt slightly, looking back at Aron.
"You like stars?"
"I love them," Aron whispered. "They don’t shout. And they don’t lie."
Xilian tilted his head. "You’re very smart."
Adrian stepped closer, protective. "He’s... different. He doesn’t always connect with people."
"I can tell," Xilian said softly. "But that doesn’t mean he can’t connect with the universe."
He stood and turned to them. "Would you mind if I spent a little time with him? Just a few minutes. I’ll stay in public view."
Adrian hesitated.
Ethan touched his arm. "Let him."
Adrian gave a small nod.
For the next half hour, Xilian showed Aron simulations of quasar activity, told stories about Voyager probes, and even let him "program" a comet’s path on a small console.
Adrian couldn’t remember the last time he saw his son smile that wide.
When it was time to leave, Aron tugged on Xilian’s coat.
"Can I come back?"
Xilian looked at him. "Do you want to learn?"
Aron nodded fiercely.
"Then yes," Xilian smiled. "I’ll clear it with your parents, and if they agree... I’d be honored to have you as my apprentice."
Ethan’s mouth opened slightly. "Apprentice?"
"I run a mentorship program," Xilian said, already pulling up a contact form on his device. "We rarely accept anyone under twelve. But I’m willing to make an exception."
Adrian looked at Ethan.
Ethan looked at Aron.
The boy who rarely asked for anything.
And now looked like he’d just touched the sky.
"Alright," Ethan said. "He’s in."
.
Aron fell asleep quickly, telescope by his side.
Adrian sat on the bed, smoothing his son’s hair as he slept.
"He’s... found something," Adrian murmured. "Something that sees him."
Ethan nodded, arms crossed, standing in the doorway.
"Do you think it’s safe?"
"No," Adrian admitted. "But when has anything we love ever been?"
Ethan sighed.
"Let him fly," Adrian whispered. "Just once. Let’s not clip his wings."
.
.
Seraphina Levistis was not the kind of girl who cried over boys.
She was confident, brilliant, with eyes like summer storms and a tongue sharp enough to send her uncles running for cover. She was the oldest of Ethan and Adrian’s children — the leader of the pack, the self-proclaimed princess of Levistis Manor, and the undeniable fire in the family’s otherwise sweet domestic life.
But even fire flickered.
Even stars collapsed.
And Seraphina’s entire world tilted the afternoon she walked by the middle school greenhouse and saw him —
Kian
— laughing with another girl.
Not just laughing. Holding her hand.
The girl was shorter than Seraphina, with dimples and ribbons in her hair, and she tilted her head like the world had nothing better to offer than Kian’s next word.
And Kian... he smiled.
The same way he used to smile at
her
.
Seraphina’s books slipped from her arms and hit the ground with a thud.
Neither of them noticed.
She turned and walked away before she could see more — or before she could explode. She wasn’t sure which was more dangerous: the fire in her chest or the cold growing beneath it.
Back home, she locked herself in her room.
It wasn’t like her to be quiet. Normally, she’d drag Eira into a dramatic retelling of her day or tease Aron until he whined about space facts. But today, she didn’t even come to dinner.
Augustin noticed first.
"Where’s the wild child?"
Leclair looked up from his soup. "She texted. Said she was tired."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Seraphina?
Tired
?"
Adrian, across the table, already stood. "I’ll go check."
He knocked gently on the door.
"Sera?"
No answer.
"Sweetheart, I’m coming in."
He opened the door to find her curled up on the bed, still in her uniform, face buried in her pillow.
Adrian approached slowly.
"Sera, what happened?"
Her voice came out muffled. "Nothing."
"You didn’t eat."
"I’m not hungry."
"You skipped your piano class."
"It’s stupid."
Adrian sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing her hair.
"Is it school?" he asked gently.
Silence.
"Did someone hurt you?"
That question cracked the dam.
Seraphina turned, eyes rimmed red but still furious. "He—he said I was his favorite person."
Adrian’s heart twisted.
"Kian?"
She nodded, biting her lip to keep from trembling. "He said I was brilliant. That I was
different
. And then—" Her voice broke. "He held her hand. He
smiled
at her. Like I wasn’t even real."
Adrian pulled her into his arms.
And for the first time in years, Seraphina cried like she was six again — like the world was too big and too cruel and she didn’t know how to breathe in it.
Later that night, Ethan found Adrian sitting on the back steps, a blanket over his shoulders, staring out at the garden.
"How bad is it?"
Adrian looked up. "First heartbreak."
Ethan exhaled. "Kian?"
Adrian nodded.
"She’s trying to pretend she’s okay now," he said softly. "But she looked so small, Ethan. She never looks small."
"She gets that from you," Ethan said. "All that fire. But she gets her heart from me."
He sat beside Adrian and wrapped an arm around his waist.
"Do we talk to her?"
"No," Adrian whispered. "Let her come to us. She needs to feel it first."
Ethan looked up at the sky, just beginning to dust with stars.
"I could strangle the kid."
Adrian smirked faintly. "That’s not legal."
"I didn’t say I’d get caught."
The next morning, Seraphina came down with her head held high and her eyes slightly swollen.
She didn’t mention Kian. Didn’t talk about school. She sat at the table, poured herself cereal, and acted like the sky hadn’t fallen the day before.
But Eira kept looking at her.
And finally, in the middle of breakfast, Eira blurted, "Do I have to beat someone up for you?"
Seraphina blinked.
Aurelius chimed in. "I’ll help. I’ve got that stun pellet from Uncle Isaac."
"No violence," Adrian said automatically.
"Depends on who broke her heart," Ethan muttered behind his coffee mug.
Seraphina stared at them — her family, her chaotic, overly-involved family — and despite herself, a tear slid down her cheek.
But she laughed too.
"Idiots," she whispered.
That afternoon, Augustin knocked on her door.
He entered without waiting and held out a paper bag.
"Ice cream. With caramel. And that chocolate shell thing you like."
She looked up. "Are you bribing me?"
"I’m comforting you with sugar. There’s a difference."
She smirked and took it.
Augustin sat across from her on the carpet.
"You want to talk?"
"No."
"Okay. You want me to say mean things about him?"
She hesitated.
"Maybe a few."
Augustin cracked his knuckles. "He’s got a rat face."
Seraphina snorted.
"And his handwriting’s ugly. I saw it at the science fair."
She giggled.
"And he wore socks with sandals once. That’s a war crime."
"Okay, okay," she laughed through her tears.
Augustin softened.
"Heartbreak doesn’t mean you weren’t worthy," he said quietly. "Sometimes it just means the other person didn’t know how to hold something precious."
She looked down. "But why her? She’s... softer. Smiles all the time. Not loud. Not intense."
"You’re not too much, Sera," Augustin said. "He was too little."
The days passed. Slowly, the sharp edge dulled.
Kian tried to talk to her at school once. She walked past him without blinking.
And when he asked her if she was okay, she smiled — sweet, chilling, and said, "I’m better now that I don’t care."
The girl who had once worn her heart like armor now wore it like a blade.
One night, Adrian found her on the roof, stargazing with Aron’s spare telescope.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Then, quietly, "I fell in love at your age too."
She turned. "You did?"
Adrian nodded. "He didn’t love me back. Not the way I hoped."
"What did you do?"
"I thought I’d never love again. Then I met your father."
She smiled faintly.
"Heartbreak teaches you how much you can survive," Adrian said. "But love teaches you what you deserve."
Seraphina nodded slowly. "Do you think I’ll love again?"
"You?" Adrian grinned. "You’ll love
better