Love Unspoken

Alexander escorted her back to the Kennedy residence. Leaving her in the grandeur of the living room, he promptly made his way to the study. Upstairs, Wayne was restlessly pacing his room, his steps threatening to wear a hole in the plush carpet.

The study door swung open with a creak, interrupting Wayne's frenzied pacing. In a fit of rage, he snatched the ashtray from the desk and hurled it towards the entrance. Alexander, with an uncanny sense of timing, tilted his head just enough to evade the flying object.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

The ashtray whizzed past his ear, crashing against the wall with a resounding clatter that echoed through the house, startling the occupants downstairs.

Quinn had barely settled into a seat when she caught the faint echoes of Wayne's furious voice from upstairs. "I leave the company in your hands and this is how you manage it?!" The venom in his voice was palpable.

Just as Freya stepped into the grand foyer, she too heard the distant outburst and instinctively glanced at Quinn. "Is Oliver here?" she inquired. Quinn simply nodded in response.

Freya's brow furrowed in annoyance. The sight of Quinn was the last thing she needed, further souring her already foul mood. She contemplated ascending the stairs, her son cradled in her arms, but the thought of confronting Wayne's wrath made her reconsider and she remained where she was.

"Where's Walter? Didn't he come with you?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

The mere mention of Walter's name sent a shiver down Quinn's spine, a flood of humiliating memories from their past encounters overwhelming her. She dreaded the thought of what Walter could do to her if Alexander ever ceased his search for her.

Freya's suspicions were piqued as she observed Quinn's reaction. Why would Walter's name affect her so if they had no connection or if there was nothing to hide? Walter had been absent for days; Freya was already on edge, and Quinn's peculiar response only heightened her alertness.

"What's wrong, sister-in-law?" Freya moved closer, settling down beside her. "Walter's been gone for days. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

Quinn's face drained of color, her fingers turning white as she clenched the fabric of the couch. She shook her head vehemently, indicating her ignorance.

Freya's anger flared, her features hardening. "You really have no idea?" she pressed, but Quinn continued to shake her head.

Freya scrutinized Quinn's profile, her gaze piercing. But then, as if a thought had struck her, her anger evaporated. Cradling her baby, she offered him to Quinn. "Look at Harold, don't you think he's grown a bit?"

Quinn averted her gaze, her eyes downcast. The baby gurgled and drooled in Freya's arms, his new little teeth almost ready to break through the gums. Quinn, lost in thought, absently touched her own abdomen, feeling a hollow emptiness that seemed to bleed internally.

"He's such a handful now, always throwing off his blankets and refusing his formula. It all comes back up every time. I thought something was wrong, but the doctor said he just doesn't want it anymore. Kids, you know?" Freya prattled on, oblivious to Quinn's ghostly pallor.

"You're lucky, you know. Not having kids means no such troubles. Ever since I had him, I feel like I've aged years. Look at me, do I have wrinkles now?" Freya's smile was radiant, but the cold defiance in her eyes was unmistakable. Quinn slowly shifted her gaze to Freya's face. Wrinkles? Her face was full of nothing but contempt. "What's the matter, sis? That look in your eyes... You don't like kids, do you? Oh, that's right. They are a handful, and my brother isn't fond of them either."