Raised From The Wild-Chapter 418: The Jealous Guy

Upon Marx’s return, he was met with a disconcerting sight. Prince Raquim lounged casually beside Amaya, his posture relaxed, leaning in as their animated conversation flowed with a familiarity that unsettled Marx.

Opposite them, Tamara sat with a bemused expression, delicately cradling her teacup. She had already sent her son to rest in the guest room with the nanny. The soft clink of porcelain punctuated their lighthearted banter, lending an air of intimacy that grated against Marx’s composure.

The Prince of Albanya reached for the porcelain teapot, pouring tea into Princess Amaya’s cup with an almost reverent tenderness. His gaze lingered, soft and warm, creating a serene moment that sparked a flare of ire in Marx’s chest.

"Marx," Amaya exclaimed, her eyes brightened as she spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe. A hint of excitement tinged her voice as she continued, "I’ve invited Prince Raquim and Tamara to stay at my palace for the night. Both of them have wrapped up their business here, and they’ll be flying back to Albanya tomorrow." Her words sparkled with anticipation, reflecting the warmth of her hospitality as she envisioned the evening to come.

Prince Raquim handed the pastry to Princess Amaya, his hand brushing against her fingertips for a fleeting moment. While Princess Amaya remained blissfully unaware of the subtle connection, Marx felt a flicker of anger. He recognized that the prince of Albanya had intentionally allowed their hands to touch, a silent gesture laden with unspoken intentions.

Raquim raised his head slowly, a sly smirk on his lips. Glinting with mischief, his eyes met Marx’s for a brief moment. A silent challenge passed between the two powerful men, one a monarch and the other a tycoon. The tension in the room thickened, and the atmosphere was taut with unspoken words.

"Had they been there before?" Marx inquired, his voice edged with sharpness, while his expression was as cold and unyielding as a sheet of ice. He sauntered into the room with an air of nonchalance, the subtle chill in his demeanor evident as he surveyed the surroundings.

The couch was just the right size for two people to sit comfortably together. Marx stood behind Tamara, a frown etched on his forehead. He shifted his weight slightly, feeling the tension in the air as he remained a step away from the cozy seating, clearly contemplating something deeper.

Princess Amaya’s brow furrowed in deep thought, her amber eyes narrowing as they locked onto Marx. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss with him, a subtle discord she couldn’t quite identify.

Marx remained still, his intense gaze unwavering, as if he was measuring her reaction and anticipating her response.

"It would be the third time," she replied softly, her voice carrying the weight of recollection. "The first was after an accident at the orphanage in Ra-Iya. Prince Raquim escorted me back to the palace."

She paused briefly before continuing, "The second time was during the Danaya Summer Series auction. The crowd became unruly, and they almost crushed me. Afterward, we found out that there was a hidden force that instigated them. Prince Raquim stepped in to protect me. I invited him for a thank-you dinner afterward."

"What did your guards do?" Marx asked, masking his voice with calmness.

"There were too many people, and the guards could not handle everyone. It was good that Prince Raquim attended the auction. If not, I might have gotten seriously hurt."

As Amaya spoke, her words pierced Marx like shards of glass. Thousand of needles seemed to prick his heart, and he felt he was suffocating. Each memory she recounted stirred a bitter storm within him, her voice evoking vivid images of a past that now felt far removed from his reach.

His face looked pained as he clenched his fists and breathed deeply. Those were the times when he lost his memories from a head trauma he suffered when he fell.

When he woke up and recovered from his injuries, the past he remembered was different from his life. He thought he was an orphan and that a good samaritan, his ’Godfather’ had saved him from the mire of poverty.

Those were the memories that were implanted in his mind when he woke up from a coma. And it took a few more months before he regained his own memories.

Back then, he had thought his soulmate was Adelle Black, a belief that offered fleeting solace. Yet, despite his conviction, an unsettling emptiness lingered, as if a vital piece of his heart remained obscured.

His nights were haunted by dreams of a mysterious woman, her features shrouded in a soft haze that rendered her face elusive and frustratingly out of reach. The only clarity came in the form of her enchanting light brown eyes, which would occasionally shimmer with hues of amber or gold, capturing his attention like precious gems. Her hair, a cascade of slightly wavy copper-brown locks, flowed elegantly down to her waist, framing an image that both captivated and eluded him. And just as he felt on the verge of unveiling her true visage, he would wake up from his dream.

Marx glanced sideways at Prince Raquim, catching the glimmer of smug satisfaction in his expression. Raquim seemed to revel in his discomfort as Amaya recounted her past difficulties when he was not around.

"Aya," Marx said gently. "Can I have a word with you? There is something I want to give you." He moved closer to the side where Amaya was seated on the couch.

Amaya’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of the familiar nickname. It had been years since she’d heard it spoken.

"What is it, Marx?" Amaya asked, tilting her head to look up at him with bright eyes.

"It is something from your father, Ibrahim." Then, he extended his hand to offer it to Amaya.

Amaya hesitated, the moment was heavy with unspoken emotion. Marx’s heart raced as doubt crept into his mind. Her hesitation felt like a chasm between them, and he started to feel insecure.

Then, slowly, Amaya took his hand. A warmth spread through Marx’s body, soothing the storm within him. It was a feeling of relief unlike any he had known as if a long-lost connection had been rekindled.

For a fleeting second, a glint flickered in Prince Raquim’s eyes—a mixture of jealousy and frustration.

Marx guided Amaya out of the room, leaving the prince of Albanya looking gloomy.