12

“Answer me.”Alex’s grandmother’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

It wasn’t a question, it was a command wrapped in authority, sharpened by years of control and expectation. She demanded obedience, not hesitation.

But Alex sat there, his mind was nowhere near the room.

How was he even supposed to answer that?

He didn’t know anything about Elara. Not really. Not beyond the fact that she was now legally his wife, bound to him by a contract neither of them had the luxury to escape. That was the problem. That was the entire, suffocating problem.

He didn’t know her past. He didn’t know her struggles. He didn’t know her dreams, her fears, her habits, nothing at all.

And the truth?

He didn’t want to know.

Because everything about this marriage was temporary, every passing day was just a countdown to freedom. Just one year, and he’d be done. Done pretending. Done carrying responsibilities he never asked for. Done with her.

So why should any of this matter?

Julian broke the tension first, as usual.

He stepped forward casually, collecting the file from the table with an ease that didn’t match the heaviness in the room. A small smile tugged at his lips, careless, almost amused.

“So what if she’s the daughter of a club owner?” he said, flipping through the file lazily. “I don’t see that as a bad thing…”

“Shut up, Julian.”

Genevieve didn’t even look at him when she cut him off, but her voice alone was enough to silence him instantly.

“Let your brother speak.”

The room fell quiet again.

Alex rubbed his lips together slowly, his jaw tightening as he leaned back into the couch. The leather creaked faintly beneath his weight. His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, a subtle sign of irritation.

He really had nothing to say.

Because, in his opinion it didn’t matter.

None of this mattered.

“Grandma,” he finally said, his voice calm but firm, “she’s my wife now.”

He paused briefly, his eyes flickering toward hers.

“I don’t really care about what people have to say. They’re free to judge me. It’s my life.” He said. The words came out smoothly, convincingly even to himself.

But they weren’t entirely true.

“Your life affects us, don’t you get it?!” Genevieve’s voice rose, sharp and unyielding. Her hand struck the arm of her chair lightly, but the sound echoed louder than it should have.

Alex inhaled slowly.

“I know…” he exhaled, the tension in his chest tightening. “But can we just let this go?”

His voice softened, just slightly. “Because you don’t expect me to leave her because of that.”

That part, at least, was true.

Not because he cared about Elara. But because divorce wasn’t an option for him.

Genevieve stared at him, her gaze heavy, searching, as if trying to peel back the layers of his calm expression to find the truth beneath.

Alex held her gaze, but there was a softness there, a quiet plea.

“Please, granny... let this go.”

For a moment, the room stood still.

Genevieve didn’t smile.

She didn’t nod.

But something in her expression shifted, a subtle, reluctant acceptance. She didn’t have a choice. The decision had already been made. Elara was now part of their family, whether she approved or not.

And Genevieve Harrington didn’t lose control often.

But this?

This was one of those rare moments.

“Bring her to the main mansion tonight,” she finally said, her voice colder now, controlled. “And make sure she dresses like a true daughter-in-law of the Harrington family.”

Julian, ever the mischief-maker, raised his fist playfully toward her, offering a knuckle bump like a child seeking approval.

For a second, Genevieve glared at him.

Then, unexpectedly, she bumped her knuckles lightly against his.

A silent exchange.

A small crack in her rigid demeanor.

But Alex didn’t notice.

He was already somewhere else.

His attention had shifted entirely to his phone, his fingers moving quickly across the screen.

Alex: Where are you, dummy?

He stared at the message for a second before hitting send, his expression unreadable.

The reply came almost immediately.

Elara: I’m waiting for my boss, my work starts today.

Alex’s jaw tightened.

He rolled his eyes, irritation flashing across his face, she was working.

If his grandmother finds out… He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, that would be another problem. Another unnecessary complication he didn’t have the energy for.

Without replying, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood up.

“I’ll see you later, granny.”

His tone was casual, detached—like the conversation never weighed on him.

“Brother,” Julian called after him, leaning against the table with a smirk, “don’t be late tonight.”

Alex gave a brief nod. Then he walked out.

—

The sun hit his face the moment he stepped outside, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness lingering in his chest.

He got into his car, the door shutting with a dull thud that echoed louder in the quiet driveway.

For a moment, he just sat there. Hands on the steering wheel, his eyes forward.

Then, without another second of hesitation, he started the engine and drove off.

******

(Wilson’s Apartment)

The shrill sound of the alarm filled the small room, relentless and unforgiving.

Clara groaned, her body refusing to cooperate as she stretched her arms lazily across the bed.

It was Monday.

And she was exhausted.

“Clara.”

Her mother’s voice drifted in from outside the room—firm, familiar.

“Uhm…” Clara responded weakly, her voice muffled as she buried her face into the pillow for a few seconds longer.

Eventually, she forced herself up.

Her movements were slow, reluctant.

She stumbled toward the small table, pouring herself a glass of water. The cool liquid slid down her throat as she gulped it quickly, her body slowly waking up.

She sat at the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead. She's clearly tired.

Her mother walked in, already dressed for the day, her expression exactly what Clara expected.

“I knew you would still be here,” she said, shaking her head as she stepped inside. “Unserious fellow.”

She sat beside Clara, the bed dipping slightly under her weight.

“Mother…” Clara groaned softly, rubbing her face. “I was so tired.”

“Tired?” her mother scoffed lightly. “Have you called your sister this morning?”

Clara blinked, her mind catching up slowly.

“When is she coming back home?” she asked.

Clara sighed, leaning back slightly.

“Mother… she’s married to the almighty Alexander Harrington…”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Her mother cut her off immediately, her voice rising with frustration.

“I have worked for that family before,” she continued, her tone firm, serious now. “And I can assure you—they will make her life miserable.”

Clara turned her head, looking at her.

There was fear in her mother’s eyes.

Real fear.

“Mother, she’s married to him already,” Clara said, her voice calmer. “Alexander wouldn’t even let her go so easily.”

She smiled faintly, as if trying to lighten the situation.

But her mother didn’t smile back.

She scoffed, shaking her head again.

Worry clung to her like a shadow.

“Besides…” Clara added, sitting up straighter now, a hint of excitement creeping into her tone, “they actually look perfect.”

Her eyes lit up slightly.

“She sent her wedding pictures to me,” she continued, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “And I can assure you… this guy is the perfect match for her.”

“Perfect what?” her mother snapped, turning to face her fully. “This is about her life!”

Clara flinched slightly at the sharpness in her voice.

But she didn’t back down.

“Mother... he’s rich too,” she said, her smile returning, brighter this time. “We’d stop going to the club. It’s tiring.”

Her voice softened, almost dreamy now. “And maybe… I’d get a good job in one of the Harrington companies.”

She could already see it.

A better life. A way out of trenches. Something more than what they had always known.

But her mother wasn’t convinced not even a little.

“That family cares about reputation,” she said slowly, each word deliberate. “If they find out she’s from a poor background…”

She paused, her expression hardened.

“They will bully her.”