Kaiba Manor Study. 7:00 am.

"Be kind and sensitive, Renée. Act your age. Let mom deal with the world."

Téa showered. Dressed in a long sleeved, white silk Caftan, she looked elegant. She was excited to meet her kid after three days.

"But dad called you names."

"He was angry." She said, serving fried eggs on toast, and stirring chocolate in milk. "I'll discuss things with him. But you stay out. Don't interfere. And go talk to him. I know you want to."

At that Renée smiled. "Why was he angry?"

"He missed on nine years. That's a lot of time. And because I was going to destroy his company."

"Wow mom! That's extreme. Will you still buy KC?"

"No. Now tell me, you want to stay with him?"

Renée froze. "Is it possible?"

"If you want."

"We'll stay in London…"

"No darling, you will." Téa made the tough choice. "I'll leave for New York. But I promise to work out a three month arrangement. And you can see him whenever you want." At that, Renée's face fell. "What's wrong?"

"You won't stay with us? I know you love him."

Struck all of a heap, Téa's fork slipped from her fingers and stained the floor.

XXXXXX

Unknown to Téa, they were watched.

"So her goodwill extends only to her daughter. Well, good luck Seto! Be grateful, she's not taking over KC."

Seto glared at Mokuba.

"Will you let Téa go?"

"No."

XXXXX

After breakfast, Téa returned to Seto's bedroom. She had left her handbag on his bedside table. Opening the door, she was surprisingly greeted by the fresh fragrances of avalanche lily, anemones, fritillaries, gentians, geraniums and larkspurs. Regardless of herself she smiled. Opening the window, she allowed the fresh morning breeze in. Her lungs filled with the beautiful essence of the nature. But the nature lost its curing glory at the awareness that she was enjoying wild, highland flowers from Swiss and French Alps.

'Who? It couldn't be Ed, or Mokuba. It's him. It's gotta be him… but why?'

Téa shut the window. She ignored that why and went through rest of the delicate gestures. Softly holding the symbol of dignified purity, in another words, Peruvian lilies, she laughed at the flirtatious note. It read.

'Hey Beautiful,

Don't scare me like this,

You know how much I love you.

Rest and Recover soon!

Love Mokuba!'

Purity, so cheerfully restored a second ago, lost to the bitterness at the next sight. There was no note. But she understood the hushed language of the mute petals. "I love you." The petals spoke. In Greek myth, Aphrodite cried about the death of her lover Adonis. She had roses grown with his blood. These flowers spoke of love. Once again, her heart challenged her head.

Heart

Head

Beautiful.

If you say so…

They are symbol of love.

You mean pain.

Love is painful

Love can be painful when not treated carefully.

Two dozen. Long stemmed. Hand picked roses…

And thorns.

Suffering is a part of Love.

And so the flesh bleeds?

Caught in between, Téa had picked the flowers with numb eyes and shaky hands. The touch pricked her finger letting out a small trail of blood.

"STOP IT." She yelled. This inner turmoil was killing her. Her head was spinning in circles. Her blood pressure dropped. She fell on her knees holding her head in her palms. Red roses dropped on the floor but the noise didn't go away…

"Stop it."

A hand landed on her shoulder. Reflexes kicked in, and she jerked, falling sideways. His gaze fixed with hers. Seto extended his hand offering her support. She refused his help and stood by herself.

"How're you feeling?" He inquired, looking blameworthy.

"I won't die anytime soon."

He smiled bleakly at her response, picking up the roses from the floor. She stepped away, refusing to accept them from him. He shrugged, dropping them on the bed. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He looked lethargic and sleep deprived. An awkward terse silence build between them.

"Marry me!" – His pragmatic proposal out of the blue stunned her. "Let me make it up to you."

"You've lost your mind. Go get help, Seto. I don't have the time and patience to spare on the likes of you."

"Don't deride me." He warned.

"Then don't provoke me."

"I know your spirit is wounded, you've suffered."

"Ha! So you grieve by twisting the knife in my wounds?"

"I was unaware of your whereabouts. Is that my crime?" He defended.

"You made a decision." She was talking about their past.

"Yes, a wrong one," he admited.

"Now face the consequences."

"You're being unreasonably harsh and unfair," he appealed.

"Story of my life!"