Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 225

Chapter 225: Chapter 225

Kaelen’s POV

Her voice hit me like a blade between the ribs.

Where were you last night?

A few words. No inflection. No tremor. Just flat, surgical precision, as if she were asking about the weather.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

My mind lurched backward. This morning. The room at the inn. Waking with my skull splitting open, my thoughts scattered like shattered glass. Seraphine’s bare shoulder. The sheets pooled at her waist. Marks—bruises, bites—scattered across her collarbone. My own shirt crumpled on the floor.

And nothing. No memory of how I got there. No memory of touching her. Just the damning evidence and a void where the night should have been.

I couldn’t tell Elara that.

I couldn’t tell her any of it.

"There was—" My throat closed. "Imperial business," I forced the words through, desperate to cover up my absence yesterday and last night. "A complex border situation."

Elara didn’t blink.

"A border situation," she repeated. Toneless.

"Yes." I stepped further into the room. My legs felt unsteady. "I had to handle it personally. In person."

The lie tasted like ash on my tongue. I kept going anyway because the alternative was the truth, and the truth would destroy everything.

"It ran late. Through the night. I should have sent word. I’m sorry."

She looked at me. Straight at me. Those ice-blue eyes, clear as winter sky, held nothing I could read. No anger. No hurt. No accusation.

Nothing.

"Okay," she said.

That was it. One word. She didn’t ask which border. Didn’t ask which commander. Didn’t demand details or proof or any of the things I’d braced myself for.

Just: Okay.

The silence that followed was worse than any scream.

I stood in the middle of our sitting room, still half-reaching for her, and she sat on that sofa like a statue carved from pale marble. Her hands were folded in her lap. Her spine was perfectly straight. She looked at me without looking at me—through me, past me, as if I’d already become a ghost.

I wanted her to yell. Wanted her to throw something. Wanted the explosion, the fury, the tears. Anything but this hollow, mechanical stillness.

"Elara—"

The front doors burst open downstairs. Small feet thundered across the foyer. Lyra’s voice rang through the house like a bell.

"Mother! Mother, we’re home!"

Elara rose from the sofa. Smoothly. Instantly. As if a switch had been flipped. The coldness in her face vanished, replaced by warmth so seamless it terrified me.

She moved past me toward the hallway. Her sleeve brushed my arm. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t acknowledge the contact at all.

I followed.

Lyra was already halfway up the stairs, her silver hair flying behind her. Valerius trailed at the bottom, slower, his dark gold eyes sweeping the scene with an awareness no child his age should possess.

"My little darling." Elara knelt and caught Lyra in her arms. Pulled her close. Pressed her lips to the crown of her head. "How was your day? Tell me everything."

"Mother! We learned the ancient Elvish alphabet today! Miss Cordelia said my letters were the neatest in the whole class!" Lyra bounced on her toes, face flushed with pride. "And—and—Maya shared her honey biscuits at break time. She said her grandmother makes them with real clover honey."

"Did she?" Elara smoothed Lyra’s hair back. Her smile was perfect. Warm. Reached her eyes. "That sounds wonderful. Were they good?"

"So good. Can we make some? Can we?"

"We’ll see about that." Elara’s gaze lifted to Valerius, who had reached the top of the stairs. "And you, my little warrior? How was your day?"

Valerius shrugged one shoulder. His eyes flicked to me—brief, assessing—then back to his mother. "Had a history test."

"How did it go?"

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