Chapter 154: Between Warmth and Caution
"There was a time when I pitied my sister and thought I would never allow a man to enter my heart," Cassandra said suddenly, her soft voice carrying an unusual weight for someone so young.
She lifted her chin as she spoke, her little brows furrowing together as though she were recalling a solemn memory.
"Because of what I saw in my sister and on her face. You know what’s?" Cassy asked, raising a brow as her wide eyes locked onto Azazel’s.
Her tone, though light, carried a sharpness of awareness that left Azazel momentarily stunned.
For a girl so small, her understanding pierced far deeper than he had expected.
His breath caught, and he leaned slightly closer, astonished at her candor.
"No, what is it?" Azazel asked at last, his voice dipping lower, husky with curiosity.
He already had a hunch about what she would say, but the gravity in her little face made him wait for the words with held breath.
At his side, Ava’s expression softened. Her lashes fluttered down briefly before lifting again, her gaze filled with curiosity.
Warmth spread across her face as she listened—her sister’s innocent voice carried a strange comfort that loosened the tightness in her chest.
Still, she made a mental note to lecture Cassandra later, to gently correct the pieces she hadn’t understood properly.
But for now, she let herself relax in the moment, her lips curving faintly with affection.
"It is pain," Cassandra finally said, her voice small but steady. Her words hung in the air like a delicate bell chime, vibrating into the silence.
She watched closely as Azazel’s lips parted, his eyes softening.
Slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile, one filled with warmth and something unspoken.
Ava exhaled, her shoulders loosening as though that one word had carried away a weight.
Her face relaxed, her smile growing brighter, touched by relief.
Cassandra wasn’t finished. She leaned forward, her little hands tightening around the fabric of Azazel’s shirt as she looked him squarely in the eye.
Her pout returned, cheeks puffed in the way a child does when she’s both angry and protective.
"Brother Azazel, next time please don’t ever make my sister that sad again, okay?" she said firmly. Her small voice wavered, but her eyes shone with sincerity.
For a heartbeat, the dining hall fell still. Azazel blinked, visibly caught by the rawness of her request.
He opened his mouth, about to respond—whether with a tease, an apology, or a promise even he wasn’t certain.
Ava’s eyes widened faintly, her breath catching at her sister’s boldness.
But before anyone could speak again, the quiet creak of hinges broke the air.
The door swung open.
And there, stepping through with measured strides, came Theresa and Benjamin.
Each held dishes in their hands, the faint aroma of seasoned broth and fresh herbs drifting with them, filling the air with a mouthwatering warmth.
The spell broke instantly.
Azazel was the first to react. His body moved swiftly, almost instinctively, as though his very nature refused to let the scene continue unchecked.
He eased Cassandra gently from his lap, his hand steadying her small frame until her feet touched the ground.
She blinked up at him in surprise, but he offered her a small nod before guiding her toward the chair.
In one smooth motion, he seated her properly, his palm brushing lightly over the top of her head before he stepped away.
His gaze then shifted immediately toward the doorway.
Theresa walked in carefully, her arms straining slightly around the weight of the large steaming bowl she carried.
The rich scent of the soup rose higher now, fragrant with spices and tender meat.
Her face glistened with a sheen of kitchen warmth, her hair pulled back neatly, though a few strands had escaped to frame her flushed cheeks.
Azazel’s long stride carried him forward. He reached her in only a few steps, his tall frame towering yet his movements gentle.
Without a word, he extended his arms and carefully lifted the heavy bowl from her grasp.
The steam brushed against his skin, hot and fragrant, but his hold remained steady.
Theresa’s eyes widened briefly, then softened with gratitude. Her lips spread into a broad smile, the kind that lit up her entire face.
"Thank you, my son," she said warmly, her voice thick with affection.
Her smile lingered as she looked at him—not as a guest or stranger, but with the pride of a mother who had found trust in the young man before her.
Benjamin followed closely behind, balancing his own dish, his steps slower but steady.
The faint clink of ceramic echoed as he approached the table, the sound mingling with the aroma of food and the warmth of family presence that now filled the room.
Ava, still seated at the dining table, let her eyes linger on Azazel’s form as he carried the steaming bowl with practiced ease.
Cassandra, meanwhile, sat on her chair, swinging her legs slightly, her pout gone but her eyes still wide, as though replaying the moment that had just passed.
The dining hall, once heavy with unspoken emotion, now glowed with a different warmth—the simple, grounding comfort of family and food.
Keeping the steaming bowl down gently upon the table, Azazel straightened, his tall frame casting a subtle shadow across the polished surface.
He turned toward Theresa, his voice warm yet respectful.
"Why not have a seat, Ma’am? I will bring the rest from the kitchen," he said smoothly.
JWithout waiting for protest, he stepped to the other side and, with practiced grace, pulled the nearest chair back for her.
"Please, Ma’am," Azazel added, his lips curving into a small, polite smile.
His tone carried both deference and insistence, leaving no room for refusal.
Theresa looked up at him, her arms still aching faintly from carrying the heavy bowl, her heart softening at his consideration.
The corners of her mouth lifted into a tender smile. "Okay. Be careful," she replied, lowering herself into the chair he had drawn out.
Azazel dipped his head quickly in acknowledgment, a nod sharp with sincerity, before turning on his heel.
His stride was purposeful, his dark hair catching the faint gleam of light as he disappeared toward the kitchen once again.
Theresa watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowing faintly with thoughtful admiration.
Then she turned her gaze toward Ava, who sat with her chin propped lazily on her hand.
"Aren’t you going to help him?" Theresa asked, her brow lifting.
Ava blinked, then rolled her shoulders with a theatrical slump, sinking deeper into her chair.
"No, Mom. He offered to help, and you see I’m tired. Secondly, Dad already followed him," she said with a shrug, her tone carrying playful stubbornness.
Theresa pressed her lips together, the faintest twitch of amusement flickering across her face.
Before she could respond, a cheerful voice piped up.
"Good morning, Mommy!" Cassandra sang out, leaping down from her seat with a light thud of tiny feet on the floor.
She scurried to her mother’s side, her eyes sparkling with uncontainable energy.
"Good morning, my darling," Theresa said warmly, bending slightly to scoop the girl up from the ground.
She placed Cassandra gently on her lap, steadying her small form with one arm.
Cassandra wriggled happily, her face glowing with mischief.
She barely stayed still for a breath before bursting out, "Mom, do you know I hugged Brother Azazel, and he hugged me back!"
Her voice rose in delight, her little legs kicking against her mother’s skirt as she squirmed with happiness.
Theresa’s eyes widened briefly before softening into knowing amusement.
She stroked Cassandra’s hair, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Oh really? So you are here bothering the two, right?" she said, her tone carrying both humor and mild reproach.
"Yes, Mom, she was here bothering us," Ava chimed in at once, leaning forward mischievously.
When Cassandra whipped her head around to glare at her sister, eyes narrowed like daggers, Ava simply responded with an exaggeratedly sweet smile, her dimples showing.
"No, Mom, I wasn’t bothering them," Cassandra countered quickly, her little hands flying up in frantic gestures.
"I was simply talking with Brother Azazel, and he asked me questions, so I answered him." Her pout returned, puffing out her cheeks with indignation.
Ava opened her mouth, already smirking. "No, it was you—"
But before the protest could escape fully, Theresa’s firm voice cut cleanly through the rising bickering.
"It’s okay, girls," she said, her tone warning enough to make both sisters still instantly.
Her gaze flicked between them with the practiced authority of a mother who would not tolerate more squabbling at the table.
"Hmmp."
In unison, both Ava and Cassandra turned their faces away, their noses in the air, humming in defiance like two stubborn cats.
Theresa exhaled with a soft sigh, though her lips betrayed the faintest smile at their antics.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Azazel and Benjamin moved in silence.
Benjamin had lifted another dish from the counter while Azazel reached for a platter, their motions efficient but wordless.
The only sounds were the soft scrape of ceramic and the faint bubbling of broth still simmering on the stove.
The air between them was heavy—not uncomfortable, but thick with something unspoken.
Azazel carried himself with steady composure, his stride even, his hands sure as he balanced the dish.
His sharp eyes flicked toward the doorway, ready to return to the dining hall.
But Benjamin, walking slightly behind, could not stay silent.
As they reached halfway down the corridor that led back toward the dining hall, he cleared his throat, his voice low but firm. "What are your intentions over my daughter?"
The question struck the quiet like a blade. His tone carried the gravity of a father’s concern, stern and deliberate, his words edged with protectiveness.
His face bore no jest—his brows drawn tight, his lips pressed in a straight line, his dark eyes drilling into Azazel’s profile with scrutiny that could make any man pause.
Azazel felt the weight of those words settle heavy on his shoulders.
He slowed his pace just slightly, his jaw tightening, though his expression remained calm.
Benjamin’s question was not born of mistrust alone—it came from the heart of a father who had seen enough to be wary, yet enough to recognize that this man had proven himself again and again.
Still, the seriousness of the moment could make anyone raise a brow.
The faint echo of their footsteps filled the hall as Azazel considered his response.