Chapter 468
468:
Dylan was jealous, and the more he dwelled on it, the more it burned, sharper than a shot of vinegar.
Christina, unaware of the storm she’d stirred, looked at him with wide, unknowing eyes. “Come on, take a load off,” she said, tapping the ornate chair at her side.
Dylan’s bitterness and jealousy ebbed away in an instant, and a tentative smile touched his face before he could stop it. But the moment he sat and allowed himself a flicker of optimism, her next comment washed over him like cold water, reigniting the ache and jealousy he’d tried to bury.
Christina teased Dylan with a grin, “If you keep standing there, folks might assume the Millers are neglecting you.”
That remark struck a nerve in Dylan. Was Christina still looking out for Robin? Did that mean she harbored feelings for Robin? The thought gnawed at him, irritation flaring.
Dylan’s gaze cut toward Robin, icy and piercing. Robin was immature, impulsive—practically a boy. What did Christina see in someone like that? Was it Brendon’s betrayal that pushed her toward someone carefree and naive? Damn Brendon!
Dylan’s mind spiraled, his forehead creasing under the weight of it. For the first time, he had begun to feel uneasy about the age gap. Age wasn’t something he could outpace. He and Christina were close in years, while both Elliott and Robin trailed behind them in age—Robin even more so, barely more than a teenager. And yet, Robin carried an easy, radiant charm he could never mimic.
These thoughts only deepened Dylan’s disquiet, his expression darkening with each passing second. Nothing had ever fazed him like this before, yet now he felt totally at a loss.
“That’s nice,” Christina commented on the coffee, oblivious to the storm inside Dylan. She turned to him with a soft smile. “Mr. Scott, you should try it before it gets cold.”
Dylan stared at the coffee blankly, not in the mood to savor it. He replied flatly, “Sure.”
He took a sip—only to find bitterness spreading across his tongue. His face tightened.
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“Is it that bad?” Christina asked, taken aback by his reaction.
Dylan lowered the cup, his tone flat. “Not really to my taste. It’s overly bitter.”
“Bitter?” Christina repeated, puzzled. She took another taste. To her, it was silky, subtly sweet, rich in aroma—everything good coffee should be.
Kurt let out a knowing chuckle. “The flavor of coffee often reflects your mood. Seems like Mr. Scott’s got something weighing on him.”
Kurt understood perfectly well what was bothering Dylan, but he wasn’t about to lay it bare. Winning a woman’s affection was a personal challenge—a contest of appeal and finesse. Helping Dylan would be no different from undermining Robin. Robin already had fewer cards to play. Robin’s youth was his strongest asset, but
That would only matter if Christina had a taste for younger men. If not, Robin had nothing to compete with. Given all that, there was no reason for Kurt to help Dylan.
Christina understood Kurt’s meaning right away and seemed to pick up on what was bothering Dylan. “Ah,” she said, casting a glance toward Dylan.
Kurt’s pulse skipped. He hadn’t spelled it out—how did she figure it out so fast? Had he known she was this sharp, he would have kept quiet. He silently cursed himself for not holding his tongue. Why did he have to say anything at all?
Dylan, meanwhile, thought she had finally figured out what was troubling him. His typically unreadable eyes lit up with a quiet hope as he studied her.
.
.
.