Maya's POV
The cellar air felt thick with unspoken truths, my admission suspended between us like a blade waiting to fall. I braced myself for the inevitable wave of betrayal that would sweep across Arthur's weathered features. The disappointment. The wounded trust. The realization that his beloved grandson had deceived him so completely.
Instead, what erupted from his throat caught me entirely off guard.
Laughter.
Not the polite kind that softens uncomfortable moments, but rich, hearty laughter that seemed to rise from somewhere deep in his chest. His entire frame trembled with mirth, and I wondered with growing alarm if he might be having some sort of episode.
"Arthur?" My confession-induced panic momentarily shifted to genuine worry.
He held up one weathered hand, gesturing for patience while he regained his composure. When he finally wiped away what looked suspiciously like a tear of amusement, his expression held equal measures of mirth and warmth.
