Married to my nemesis-Chapter 142: Arthur’s tantrums

"Six years, and you still visit her grave. You must really miss her, Sir. But tell me, do you believe everything you read?" Vixen’s new consigliere asked, curiosity lacing his tone.

Vixen let out a long, weighted breath, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes fixed on something in the distance.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. The tension in the air was thick, his thoughts heavy.

His jaw clenched, a storm of emotions brewing as his gaze locked onto Enim’s grave.

"I don’t know if I should," he muttered through gritted teeth. "It was her own words. She wrote it herself. But every year, like clockwork, I come here. And every year, my heart remains trapped in the past. I wish she’d told me the truth. I wish she’d shared what she was going through... maybe then I could’ve protected her from everything that happened."

Marcus stepped closer, his presence a steadying force as he placed a hand on Vixen’s shoulder, offering a deep sigh in solidarity.

"I know it’s hard, Vixen," Marcus said quietly. "But you have to bury those emotions. It’s been six years. Even she must feel the weight of her silence. She must regret not telling you. She probably wishes she could’ve done things differently."

Vixen lowered his head, words failing him as his thoughts spiraled. Slowly, he pulled out his shades from his pocket and slipped them on, the dark lenses concealing the conflict raging inside him.

He turned away, his hands tucked into his pockets, now gloved. His steps were deliberate as he walked toward the waiting car, each movement radiating cold determination.

Marcus stood still, watching him leave, unable to shake the feeling that Vixen’s faith—his hope—was slipping further away.

He had tried to reach him, tried to break through, but with each passing year, Vixen only seemed more distant.

With a final glance at Enim’s grave, Marcus let out a long, silent breath. No matter how much time had passed, Vixen’s heart was still anchored to the woman beneath the earth.

He watched the car drive away, his thoughts heavy.

As Vixen made his way to the car, his phone buzzed with an incoming call.

He glanced at the screen, irritation flickering in his eyes before answering with a resigned sigh.

"What now, mother?"

On the other end, Phebe’s voice was urgent, tinged with frustration.

"Son, Ana and I have tried everything. Arthur is throwing tantrums again. He won’t listen to us, and I don’t think he will. We need you here, today. You have to talk to him."

Vixen’s voice softened, but a trace of exasperation remained. "Mum, he’s only six. You can handle him."

"I’ve tried," Phebe snapped. "Ana’s tried, the nanny’s tried. But this... this is different. He’s my grandson, but his behavior... it’s just not normal. Please, come and talk to him."

Vixen paused, sighing deeply. "Alright, mother. I’ll be there in a few minutes."

"You’d better," she warned before hanging up.

A few minutes later, Vixen arrived at the mansion. The door swung open to reveal the chaotic scene inside.

Broken pieces of something lay scattered across the floor, the maids scrambling to clean up the mess.

Vixen’s icy gaze swept across the room as he shrugged off his jacket and removed his gloves, his expression unreadable.

"Where is he?" he asked, his voice low and commanding.

"Sir, he’s in his room," Arthur’s nanny reported, her voice tense as she watched Vixen’s cold gaze flicker briefly toward her before he started up the stairs.

When he reached the door to Arthur’s room, he was met by his mother and Ana, both visibly worn out from trying to handle the situation.

"Thank goodness you’re here," his mother said, relief flooding her tone. "I knocked and knocked, but he wouldn’t open the door. He’s throwing another tantrum, and I’m starting to worry what he’s up to in there."

"Let me try talking to him," Vixen said, his voice calm but resolute as he reached for the door handle. But Ana quickly caught his arm, her touch gentle but firm.

Vixen shot her a look, his anger simmering beneath the surface, ready to explode. It wasn’t the first time Arthur had acted out, but this time, something felt different.

Ana could sense the frustration radiating from him, the frustration that had been building up for too long.

She locked eyes with him, her expression softening. "Vixen, I know you’re angry, but please... don’t scold him. He’s acting out because he needs someone to listen. He wants you, not the anger. Just hear him out. I tried, but it seems like you’re the one he wants to talk to. This is his way of reaching out, of asking you to be there. Please, don’t raise your voice at him."

Vixen took a deep breath, the storm in his chest easing as he saw the genuine concern in Ana’s eyes. He wasn’t going to scold his son, not this time.

He nodded, his features softening.

"I’ll try, mother. I’ll do my best," he murmured, his voice quieter now, filled with determination.

Raising a child had never seemed so complicated.

He had always thought it would be easy, but raising Arthur alone?

That was a different story. His heart ached for his son, and he only wanted to raise him to be a strong, good man.

But when Arthur’s tantrums flared, his patience wore thin. How could he get through to him? What else could he do to make his son cooperate?

And yet, the idea of remarrying—of trying to find someone to help with this journey—scared him.

He couldn’t risk making the wrong decision, one that would hurt him or Arthur.

"Arthur," Vixen called softly, knocking on the door. "Arthur, it’s Daddy. I heard about your tantrums, and I came because I want to talk to you. Maybe Grandma doesn’t understand, but I’m here. I’ll stay with you, and we’ll talk. Could you open the door, please?"

There was silence for a moment.

Then, with a click, the door creaked open, revealing a small figure standing on the other side. Arthur was dressed casually, his curly hair wild and big, styled into a bun on top of his head.

He looked so much like a girl at first glance—his little face full of worry and uncertainty.

His eyes, normally so bright and curious, were dull now, staring at his father in silence, lost in thought.

"Really?" he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "You promise?"

Vixen’s heart broke as he crouched down to his son’s level, their eyes locking. He took a deep breath, the weight of the moment sinking in as he nodded.

"I promise you, Arthur. This is just between the two of us. Why don’t we go to your room and talk about it—just us, okay?"

Arthur stared at Vixen for a long moment, his little brow furrowed. Then his gaze flicked over to his grandmas.

A scowl tugged at his lips. It was clear—he was upset with them. And they knew it. Their little one was holding onto that grudge, and it stung.

Arthur, of course, found solace in knowing he had his father to talk to. He wasn’t about to let his grandmas get their way this time.

"Can we go now?" Vixen asked, a gentle smile breaking through his concern.

Arthur nodded and, without a word, Vixen scooped him up off the ground, lifting him into his arms and planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I want to hear what made my big boy so upset," Vixen said with a playful grin.

Arthur seized the moment to point an accusing finger at the two women standing in the doorway. "It’s Grandma Phebe and Grandma Ana!" he pouted, his lips sticking out dramatically.

The two women gasped, their mouths hanging open in surprise as they looked at each other, unable to suppress their own amusement.

Vixen raised an eyebrow. "And what did they do to make you so angry?"

Arthur glared at his grandmas, giving them an icy stare. Then he turned back to Vixen, his face softening a little. "Daddy, can we talk about it inside?"

Vixen chuckled softly. "Of course, Arthur. We can talk inside, just the two of us."

He carried his son into the room, gently setting him down on the bed. With a comforting sigh, he seated himself on a small chair opposite Arthur.

"Alright, I’m all ears. What happened?" he asked, leaning forward.

Arthur kicked his legs back and forth, looking down at his little hands with a distant, thoughtful expression.

His mood had shifted again, the playful energy replaced with a quiet seriousness.

"Daddy," he said softly, raising his head to meet Vixen’s gaze, his eyes filled with a somber look. "It’s about Grandma."

Outside, Ana and Phebe exchanged looks, both a little apprehensive now that they were on the receiving end of their grandson’s frustration.

But there was no mistaking it—the love between Arthur and his father was undeniable, and perhaps, deep down, they understood that this moment was exactly what Arthur needed.

Ana couldn’t help but laugh lightly. "I think Vixen’s going to have a way with him. It’s fine. He’s just like his father, after all."

Phebe nodded in agreement, her lips curling into a soft smile. "Yeah... they look so much alike. A real chip off the old block."

"Grandma said I should get a new hairstyle," Arthur murmured, his voice small. "She said I should cut my hair, but... I’m scared of the blades on the barber’s clippers."

Vixen stifled a chuckle, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he nodded in understanding.

"Is that what you’re worried about?" he asked gently, his voice light with amusement.

Arthur’s pout deepened as he nodded, his small face full of concern.

"You don’t want a new style?" Vixen asked. "You know, I think you’re just like me. We can tell Grandma that we’ll pick our own hairstyles."

Arthur’s eyes widened with curiosity. "How, Daddy?"

Vixen leaned in, his smile widening. "Look at me, big man with the beard. It’s been forever since I’ve been to a salon. Maybe we could go together instead, huh? You’ll be with me, and we’ll make it a thing. Does that sound good?"

Arthur’s lips curled up in a hesitant smile, but then the glimmer in his eyes faded slightly, replaced by a quiet thoughtfulness. "Are you going to do it with me... or after me, Daddy?"

Vixen laughed softly, shaking his head. "We’ll do it together, buddy. We’ll get nice, fresh cuts, and we’ll show Grandma that we’re the ones in charge of our hair. No more annoying us with those suggestions."

"Okay," Arthur said, his smile returning, though it was a little shy.

"And listen, Arthur," Vixen continued, his tone shifting slightly to one of gentle seriousness. "Next time you don’t want something, you don’t have to throw a tantrum, alright? Just ask Nanny to call me, and we can talk it out. You can tell me what’s going on, okay?"

Arthur nodded eagerly. "Okay, Daddy."

Vixen smiled, ruffling his son’s hair as he stood up. "Alright, let’s go get that amazing haircut, big man."

Arthur jumped down from the chair, his excitement returning. "Okay, Daddy, I’ll go change!" he said, rushing toward the bathroom, his small feet pattering across the floor.

Vixen watched his son, a soft warmth in his chest. He had grown so much, so fast—matured beyond his years.

Arthur had already started doing so many things by himself that should have been handled by his nanny, but that was his boy. He was becoming independent.

For a moment, Vixen’s smile faltered, and his gaze drifted, a quiet sorrow tugging at him. As he looked at his son, he couldn’t help but think of the past—the things he’d lost.

The memory of that day six years ago came flooding back. He had been holding Arthur in his arms, the tiny bundle of his world, when the sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the hall.

Nurses rushed into his room with urgency in their every movement. He turned, his heart racing, but before he could speak, they’d taken Arthur from his arms.

Confusion gripped him as he followed them into the next room.

His breath hitched when he saw the floor covered in shards of shattered glass, the remnants of something that had been destroyed. He looked out the window and froze.

The ambulance was there, and on the stretcher was a body being carefully loaded.

It was Enim.

The shock was paralyzing. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to stop.

And then, a tap on his shoulder snapped him back to reality. He turned, his head spinning, and a nurse handed him a piece of paper.

"Sir," the nurse said, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. "She left a note."

He took the paper with trembling hands, his vision blurring as he unfolded it. It was a letter from Enim.