Chapter 38: Mommy… What is Love?

I sit in the car, leaning back against the seat, eyes fixed on the window.

The night stretches outside—dark streets washed in bright light, streetlamps smearing into soft blurs as the car moves forward.

Cold.

Just like that night.

When I was little.

The memory comes without warning.

I’m sitting on the dining table, legs too short to touch the floor, swinging impatiently back and forth. A spoon clenched in my small hand, tapping against the edge of the bowl. I’m hungry—achingly so. The kitchen smells like chicken soup, warm and comforting.

My mother stands by the stove. She glances at me and sighs softly.

“Neon,” she says, gentle but firm, “you should learn patience.”

I puff out my cheeks. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

She smiles—soft, fond—and pours the soup carefully into my bowl. She places it in front of me like it’s something precious.

“I know, my love.”

I blink at her, too small to understand what love really means.

She sits across from me and nudges the bowl closer. “It’s hot. Eat carefully.”

I nod eagerly, eyes lighting up.

Then I ask, innocent and curious, “Mommy… what is love?”

She smiles again, lips parting as if she’s about to answer—

But then my father walks in.

He sits beside her, resting a hand over hers, and looks at me seriously.

“Neon, my boy,” he says, “love means taking care of someone. No matter what happens. Never leaving them. Staying by their side until the end.”

I blink, absorbing his words without truly understanding them.

“Daddy… Mommy… do you love each other?”

They smile at the same time.

“Of course,” my mother says.

“We love you too, Neon,” my father adds. “Until we live.”

“You’re our beloved son.”

Beloved…..

The words echo in my mind.

I blink hard.

The memory fractures, dissolving into the present.

I’m still staring out the car window.

My hand rises to my face. I wipe the corner of my eye—and only then do I realize it’s wet.

They lied.

They never loved me.

Lied—

My chest tightens suddenly, painfully. My tie feels too tight, like it’s choking me. I tug it loose, then fumble with the buttons of my shirt.

Why does it feel like the air is disappearing?

I suck in a breath—too shallow. Another—worse.

“Stop the car,” I say sharply. “Right now.”

The driver stiffens. “Yes, young master.”

The car pulls over near a park.

The door barely closes before I’m out, cold night air slamming into my face. I walk forward without direction, shoes crunching softly against the path.

My breathing is fast. Uneven.

Neon. Relax.

Calm down.

I stand under the trees, chest heaving, trying to remember how to breathe.

I walk to a bench and sit down.

The park is silent.

Not empty—just quiet enough. The kind of silence that presses gently against my thoughts and asks them to slow down. Exactly what I want. Silence inside my head.

I lean back and close my eyes, letting the cold night air wash over my face. Everything fades—voices, memories, tension. There is only the wind and the soft rustle of trees. Petals move somewhere nearby, their sound barely a hum.

Then—

Footsteps.

Fast. Uneven. Rushed.

“Sir—”

I open my eyes.

Deniz is walking toward me, worry written plainly across his face. My eyes widen slightly in surprise. I didn’t expect him. Not now. Not here.

He stops in front of me, breath uneven, as if he ran all the way. His hair is messy, strands falling out of place, stirred by the night breeze.

I stare at him in silence.

“Deniz,” I say quietly. “What are you doing here?”

He looks at me for a second, then sits down beside me.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

His voice trembles—just a little.

I glance at him. “Yes. I’m fine.”

He studies me instead of answering. His dark hair shifts in the air, and under the dim lights, his black eyes shine—sharp, alert, searching.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

I blink and look away. “I wasn’t feeling well. I needed some fresh air.”

He lowers his gaze and runs a hand through his hair. “That’s all?”

I nod.

Then I pause. “Wait… how did you know I was here?”

He turns to me. “Your driver called me. He said you suddenly felt unwell, so I came.”

I look him over slowly.

He left the dinner party. For me.

He’s shivering.

Without thinking, I take off my coat and drape it over his shoulders. “Why didn’t you wear a coat?”

“In a hurry,” he says, trying to remove it. “I forgot. It’s fine. You’ll catch a cold.”

I pull it back around him, firmer this time. “I’m alright.”

Our eyes lock.

“Are you really okay?” he asks again.

I look away. His presence is warm—too warm, settling too deeply.

After a moment, he speaks softly. “Is it because of Mr. Zyke?”

I turn to him.

“I know,” he continues. “He’s the one who attacked you.”

I don’t answer. I stare at the ground, then nod slowly.

“Why?” Deniz asks. “Why would he do this to you? You’re his brother.”

“He wants the company,” I say quietly. “He wants to take the Kael main business from me.”

Deniz looks at me in disbelief.

“But you rebuilt it,” he says. “You poured everything into it. You worked yourself to exhaustion to make Kael successful again.”

I look at him.

His face is filled with worry—as if this burden belongs to him, not me.

A soft smile slips from my lips.

He freezes. “Why are you smiling?”

“Nothing,” I say gently. “You look adorable with messy hair.”

His cheeks turn red instantly.

He goes silent.

I reach out slowly, careful not to startle him. My touch is gentle as my fingers brush his hair, smoothing the strands back into place.

I lean in just enough for him to hear me.

“Deniz,” I whisper, “why are you always so adorable?”

My thumb lingers for a brief second. “Sometimes… I really want to admire you.”

Deniz doesn’t move.

He just stares at me in silence—cheeks burning red, breath caught, eyes wide and uncertain—like he doesn’t know whether to look away or stay exactly where he is.

And I let that moment breathe.

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