Betrayed? I Upgraded to His Billionaire Brother novel Chapter 204

**Chapter 204**

It was Gavin.

He stood there, freshly showered, clad in a dark red silk robe that draped over him like a second skin. The fabric shimmered subtly under the soft lighting, casting an aura that was markedly different from the sharp suits he typically wore. This ensemble exuded an air of relaxed elegance, a dangerous allure reminiscent of a panther lounging in the sun—graceful yet potent.

I exhaled softly, a small wave of relief washing over me as I opened the door. “Aren’t you staying at the Windsor estate tonight?” I asked, curiosity lacing my voice.

He shot me a sidelong glance, his eyes narrowing slightly, clearly irked by my seemingly thoughtless inquiry. “When have I ever stayed there?” The edge in his tone was unmistakable.

Right.

That was a rather foolish question on my part. It dawned on me that he hadn’t spent a single night at that grand house since he had moved out eight years ago, a fact I should have remembered.

Being acutely aware of his fastidious nature regarding cleanliness, I had taken the liberty of placing a brand-new pair of guest slippers on the floor for him—men’s cotton slippers in a deep blue hue, just the right shade to complement his striking eye color.

Gavin glanced down at the slippers, his voice cool and measured. “Whose are these?”

Without turning back, I was already making my way toward the kitchen. “Yours,” I replied casually, the words flowing effortlessly from my lips.

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, a barely perceptible reaction that hinted at amusement.

He strode into the room with the confidence of someone who owned the place, his presence commanding and undeniable. “Midnight snack?” he observed, noticing the lunchbox I held.

I shrugged, a hint of sheepishness creeping into my demeanor. I had never truly indulged at the Windsor mansion, and after the evening’s earlier drama, my appetite had been all but nonexistent.

“Yeah,” I confirmed, flicking on the kitchen light, the bright illumination contrasting sharply with the dim ambiance of the living area.

Gavin settled into a chair at the dining table, his posture relaxed yet authoritative. “Then make me a portion too,” he commanded, as if it were the most natural request in the world.

I was momentarily taken aback, speechless.

Didn’t he eat enough at dinner? I wanted to ask, but the memory of the earlier tension at the dinner table silenced my curiosity. Instead, I turned back to the kitchen, focusing on boiling some Italian ravioli, a task I felt somewhat confident in despite my generally questionable cooking skills.

As I stood over the pot, I could feel the warmth enveloping me, the steam rising and swirling around my face. I had opted for a floral-print nightdress after my shower, the hem dancing gently with each movement I made, adding a touch of whimsy to the otherwise serious atmosphere.

The kitchen was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the soft mood lighting I had left in the living area. I stirred the pot of ravioli, watching as they bobbed to the surface, plump and inviting.

I could sense Gavin’s gaze on me, a weighty presence that felt different from the sharp, scrutinizing stares I had grown accustomed to at the main house. This felt… warmer, a sentiment that seemed entirely out of place for someone like him.

I added a splash more water to the pot, the ravioli floating enticingly, and swallowed hard as I scooped them out, placing them carefully on a plate.

Gavin’s eyebrow twitched, his interest piqued. “Worries endlessly?”

“Mhmm…” I nodded, recalling our conversations. “She’s always hoping her grandson will find someone special, but he’s quite the closed book. Oh, and you’re the same age as him,” I added, a playful grin tugging at my lips.

Both of you are men pushing forty, I thought, but I kept that to myself.

Gavin, seemingly oblivious to my underlying thoughts, finished his ravioli and, with a tissue, wiped his thin lips. “And then?” he asked, a leisurely curiosity in his tone.

I hadn’t anticipated his probing nature, but since the topic had arisen, I continued, “Around New Year’s, she mentioned that he might have a girlfriend now, but it’s uncertain if she’ll marry him.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what do you think? Would his girlfriend be willing to marry him?”

I hesitated, momentarily stunned by the question. “I think?”

I felt a flicker of exasperation. “I’m not his girlfriend. What does what I think matter?”

“What if you were?”

His dark eyes locked onto mine, an intensity simmering just beneath the surface, igniting a spark that sent my heart racing.