MasukThe drive back to the Devereaux complex was silent.Not the familiar, companionable silence Michael was used to after long operations or late diplomatic functions. The kind punctuated by shared exhaustion, muted humor, or the quiet satisfaction of having survived another evening intact.Tonight, the silence was deliberate and self-imposed. Dense with everything he had chosen not to say.The car he was in, moved smoothly through the city, tires whispering against asphalt as private roads peeled away from public ones.Gates immediately recognized the vehicle and checkpoints opened without question. Access, immediately and always granted.That was how it had always been.Privilege had never felt so hollow.Michael sat in the backseat, jacket folded with care beside him, tie loosened but not removed. Appearances mattered.Even now.Especially now.Habit had trained him too well to abandon it when it counted. Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and white. He watched them
Dominic remained standing at the balcony after Althea had left him, his hands resting on the cold stone with his shoulders squared in posture. A pose that had been trained into him since he was a child.The balcony emptied slowly.One by one, guests, several feet from where he is, drifted back inside, laughter resuming, music swelling as if the night itself had not witnessed his humiliation. Dominic did not move.Never show weakness. He thought angrily. Never chase. Never beg.Those were the rules of the Valtieri bloodline whispered in his bones.But the rules had never accounted for her.He closed his eyes.For a moment, he imagined himself, what it would have looked like if he had followed her. What would happen if he had reached for her wrist, lowered his voice, said her name the way he used to when the world narrowed to just the two of them.Althea.Not Miracle Hands or Althea Valtieri.Not the woman everyone
The terrace doors closed behind Althea with a quiet finality, leaving Dominic at the balcony.The night air pressed against him, sharp and unyielding. It’s carrying the distant hum of the city below.Inside, the gala continued seamlessly as if nothing had fractured on that balcony, as if carefully curated lives hadn’t momentarily cracked open.He gripped the stone railing, jaw clenched, pulse hammering in his ears.She had walked away.Dammit, Dominic thought darkly.She did not storm off or was even shaken.She had chosen to leave him standing there, anger still burning in his chest with nowhere to land.For a fleeting moment, Dominic considered going after her. He was set on pushing past his pride, the years of restraint, past the silent war lines he had sworn never to cross publicly. But the image of her back, straight and resolute as she disappeared through the doors, stopped him.She had meant it.You have no right to be jealous. She told him, the words replaying with surgical pr
Althea felt the moment stretch too thin as she glanced around them.Too many eyes and ears pretending not to notice or listen.The tension between Dominic and Michael lingered like a live wire, and she knew well enough that once it snaps in front of everyone, it would not be forgiven.Not by the Devereaux.Not by the Valtieri.Not by the silent observers already weaving narratives in their heads.She made the decision quietly.“Excuse me. This will take a few minutes.” Althea said, turning to Michael with an assured smile. Her hand brushed his arm in a silent thank you, a reassurance. “I’ll be right back.”Michael understood immediately, only nodding once.“I’ll be nearby.”Althea didn’t look back as she walked past Dominic, only murmuring low enough for him to hear.“Balcony.” She said to him in a firm tone. “Now, Dominic.”It wasn’t a request and he knew it well enough.She walked ahead of him and heard the balcony doors closed softly behind them, sealing off the noise of the gala.
The gala had been on Althea’s calendar way before the bloodlines resurfaced and names were dragged back into the light.She decided not to attend and had argued against attending.Althea, at first was quiet about it and finally became stubborn.Helena had listened, arms crossed, gaze steady.“Althea, again, I am saying that you can’t disappear now.” Helena said clearly. “Your absence will be interpreted as guilt or fear. Neither of the two, serves you.”Althea knew she was right.The event that will be hosted by the Devereaux Foundation is an international medical philanthropy gala. It’s not merely ceremonial but political. Attendance signaled legitimacy while her presence their tonight reaffirmed protection.Finally, seeing Helena’s point, Althea finally stood before the mirror that evening, smoothing her dress with hands that had stitched bodies back together but now trembled over silk.“If you don’t feel like smiling, then don’t.” Helena told her gently from the doorway. “Just don’
The first blow from the Valtieri’s did not come with gunfire or sirens.It arrived as information. A leak that is controlled but precise and merciless.By midmorning, the name Althea Johnson no longer existed in the circles that mattered.It quietly replaced throughout the diplomatic channels, financial networks, legacy registries, and old bloodlines that had long memories and longer reach.ALTHEA VALTIERI.LEGAL SPOUSE: DOMINIC VALTIERI.Attached were photographs.Not recent ones. Not careless paparazzi shots.These pictures were deliberate.Grainy images from years ago. Dominic and Althea exiting a courthouse in a coastal city that prided itself on discretion. A still frame from a security camera with his one hand on her back, her face turned away but unmistakable, a ring visible on her finger. Another old photo showed of their intimate wedding at the Valtieri estate that were attended by the family.It was proof without any explanation or any needed confirmation.By noon, the whisp







