Bastian - Chapter 90 - Mother's son

“Bastian?”

The door slammed open, jolting Odette from her moonlit reverie at the carriage window. She greeted him, adjusting her thin shawl with a smile.

Entering the room silently, Bastian’s usual quiet demeanor felt heavy and different tonight.

“What happened?” Odette gasped, noticing the scratch mark on Bastian’s cheek. “You’re hurt! Let me get…”

“No need, stay there,” Bastian interrupted firmly. Disregarding his jacket onto the bed’s foot, he locked the room and shrouded the carriage windows with curtains, then walked towards Odette, who stood frozen, tightly gripping a crumpled piece of paper.

Placing the paper in Odette’s hand, Bastian watched as she was mute in disbelief. Her lips trembled, her gaze hollow, as the bustle of the train sank into a muted rumble. The piercing whine of the engine was the only sound breaching her numbed ears.

“Take a look,” Bastian urged, handing Odette the paper.

“Bastian, this is…”

“Quickly,” His cold, abyss-like eyes locked on her.

Odette lowered her gaze, accepting the paper hesitantly. Seeing the typed text and signature, she knew its content and how it reached Bastian’s hands. Her secret sin was exposed, and she feared the consequences of her deal with Theodora Klauswitz. Hoping to keep it hidden longer, she knew her prayers would’ve been in vain.

Accepting her guilt, Odette braced for punishment but vowed to protect Tira. She met Bastian’s gaze with tearless, stinging eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Her apology diminished Bastian’s smile. “Sorry….” he echoed, that sarcastic word stabbing his heart.

“That’s what happened,” Odette said, clutching the paper.

“That’s what happened,” Bastian repeated, his disappointment palpable. “What? Haven’t you checked it yet?” He concealed his anger, standing before Odette by the train window’s curtain.

Bastian waited for Odette’s explanation. He wished to hear her refute the charges―saying it was a trap, a misunderstanding, even slander. He hoped she would ask him to trust her. If she refuted all, he was set to trust and dismiss the matter. He’d accept a cowardly lie, anything but ‘sorry,’ which to him was a dog’s whimper.

“Take another look,” he said, shoving the document back at her.

Tears brimmed in Odette’s eyes, yet she held back. Her pleas came as quiet apologies.

“WHY!” Bastian screamed, flinging the document to the floor. “WHY ALLY WITH HER?!”

“She found a weakness,” Odette admitted, voice shaking. She hoped Bastian didn’t know she stole the document to protect Tira. The harsh truth must remain unknown to him. “I caused my father’s paralysis,” she whispered.

“Beg pardon?” Bastian was taken aback.

“When I found out he met you secretly. I planned to apologize to you―couldn’t meet. Upon my return, he’d taken our savings in drunkenness. It led to an argument.”

“And?”

“I pushed him down the stairs. You must know the rest,” Odette confessed.

“Duke Dyssen said it was an accident, drunken slip on the stairs.”

“Right. Post-accident, my father forgot the incident ― I chose silence. Little did I suspect his memory’s return,” Odette paused, fighting back tears. As she looked at Bastian, her sorrowful smile recalled their happier past, deepening her regret.

Odette suspected Theodora Klauwitz had ulterior motives for exposing this secret, potentially to wreck their marriage. Despite the turmoil, it had an upside: she could shield Tira and spare Bastian’s reputation, thus achieving her goal.

“My father wanted to send me to jail. He wrote a threatening letter. However, that letter fell into Madam Klauwitz’s hands.”

“How?”

“I didn’t know. She had the letter and proposed a deal; I steal your business documents, she preserves the secret. I agreed.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to end up in prison.”

“You couldn’t inform me?” Bastian scoffed, bewildered. He could understand if Odette pushing her gambling-addict father, even killing him, but concealing this deceit—spying for his stepmother—baffled him.

“I didn’t want more people to know about this… I was afraid,” Odette bowed, her eyes welling up again. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you think I am incapable of solving your problem?” Bastian lifted her chin, reading her expression. “Or you never thought about me?” Holding her neck, he questioned, “Do you think you can get what you want by any means?”

“Bastian, I…” Fear silenced Odette, confronted with his icy gaze.

The documents she stole, pivotal to the company, had been under lock and key in his office. Sense of despair and emptiness filled Bastian’s heart as he realised how she could have taken it. A bitter laugh broke through his lips. Franz had been right – His love for her blinded him, failing to see her as a spy and prey to manipulation. Ironically, if Theodora Klauwitz hadn’t handed him those documents, he would’ve never suspected Odette.

Yes, doubt never crossed his mind.

After Thomas Mueller’s call about Jeff Klauwitz’s self-interest, Bastian sensed a spy nearby leaking information. Yet he never imagined it would be his own wife, Odette, who had access to his private workspace.

He would have trusted her blindly, out of love….

Bastian released her, a sarcastic smile appearing as he looked at the red marks on her neck. Long-lost memories of his mother resurfaced, her tear-stained eyes caused by his father’s betrayal. Despite advice to divorce, she clung to their marriage, trusting and loving him until her tragic end. Though grateful for his birth, Bastian couldn’t empathize with his mother’s all-consuming love for someone so undeserving.

Gazing at Odette, Bastian recognised his mother’s reflection in himself.

He was his mother’s son…

Loving the undeserving…

Trusting a woman who betrayed him…

Just like his mother…

“Bastian, I’ll take responsibility,” said Odette, gripping his sleeve. “Punish or imprison me, but wait until our contract ends and Tira graduates. I beg you.”

“Tira’s graduation?” Bastian detached her grasp, purging her touch. “Grasp the damage you’ve caused, Lady Odette.”

“Bastian…” she reached for him again.

“Do you expect me to support your family after all I’ve lost?”

He finally knew the answer to the question he’d often pondered all this time

‘What am I to you?’

Nothing.

From the beginning until now, and always.