Arwen didn't say anything, but she could feel the knife he was carrying plunged into his heart. It was twisting painfully, carving wounds that had long scarred over but never truly healed. Yet he bore all the pain with a quiet resilience, as if he had mastered the art of enduring suffering over the years.
Reaching out, she held his hand in hers, her touch soft and deliberate. Slowly, she patted the back of his hand, her voice coming a gentle balm. "No matter how much power and pride the Winslow name carries, to me, it's meaningless without you. It's you who matters, Aiden —with or without the name. Just you."
Aiden froze, her words cutting through the bitterness that had clung to him like a second skin. His gaze which was shadowed with anger moments before, softened as he stared at her. "And it's you who matters to me. You are the only family I have in this world. After my mother, it's just you and no one else," he said, holding a serene moment with her.