His face was ashen, his anger palpable. “Weston, come out here right now!”
Weston was momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained his composure. He stood, glancing at Dr. Quirk. “I have a few things to handle. You two can continue.”
Chris’ expression was darker than ever, his rage boiling over. He struggled to control the impulse to march into the room and drag Weston out himself. But he restrained himself, only turning to look at Guinevere once Weston had passed him and left the room.
Guinevere avoided his gaze, her eyes darting away, as if she was either too scared or too disgusted to meet his eyes.
Seeing this, Chris’ mood soured even further. His feelings were a mix of frustration and helplessness, and the anger inside him surged. With a sharp motion, he slammed the door behind him, causing the quiet corridor to echo with the noise.
The corridor was empty. Chris had arranged for the area to be cleared before coming here. He stood, seething with rage, watching Weston turn his back. The fury in Chris’ chest was unstoppable, and without thinking, he threw a punch at Weston.
“Asshole!” he yelled, his voice full of venom, and spat at him. His face was contorted with fury. Despite his age, there was no mistaking the resemblance between father and son. Once, Chris had been charming, especially in his younger years. Weston had once looked up to him.
But that was long ago.
Chris had destroyed all the respect Weston had for him before Weston could even become an adult. To Weston, Chris was nothing but a despicable, manipulative man, no matter how powerful he was.
As Chris let his anger spill over, Weston stood there, unmoved, the only feeling he had for his father being nothing but hate and disdain. There were no more emotions, only a deep-rooted bitterness.
Weston grabbed his father’s fist, staring him down. “Shouldn’t you be with Mom abroad? Why are you here?”
His voice was calm, almost as though he were asking a casual question. To Chris, it sounded like mockery.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking Guinevere to see a psychologist?”
At this, Weston almost laughed. “She’s my fiancée, my future wife. Why should I need your permission to take her to see a psychologist? Who do you think you are?”
Chris’ face darkened. “What did you do, Weston? Don’t tell me you’ll only regret it when it’s too late. Do you even understand the consequences of your actions? If she really remembers—”
Weston interrupted him sharply. “So what if she remembers? The truth remains the same.” His face was emotionless, but the coldness in his eyes spoke volumes. He was reaching the end of his patience. “What are you so afraid of, Dad?”
Chris inhaled sharply, veins bulging on his forehead. His eyes burned with murderous intent.
For a long moment, there was silence. Then Chris finally spoke, his voice low. “I don’t want to hurt you, Weston. You’re my son. What happened before was an accident. Now, we don’t have any other choice. Things have gone too far. You can’t go back—”
“Why not?” Weston cut him off, his voice cracking with emotion. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Chris’ words faltered as Weston continued. “While you and Mom were off traveling, did you ever think about me? Just once? While you play the part of the perfect husband in front of her, did you ever consider the lies you’ve told her?”
Before Weston could say another word, Chris slapped him hard across the face.
Weston didn’t flinch. He didn’t even try to dodge.
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