Chapter 11: Andy Showed Up

Beatrice lit up the moment Alicia agreed. Alexander’s brow furrowed with worry, but he held his tongue. After dinner, Alicia returned to her room.

While she was working at her computer, she heard footsteps. She quickly hid the laptop just as a knock sounded at the door.

The door creaked open. Alexander slipped inside, guilt etched across his face. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed where Alicia lay.

“I’m sorry, my dear daughter,” he said softly. “I’m afraid my wife is plotting against you. But I’ll help you, quietly. I won’t let her harm you.”

“I know you’re doing a lot, Dad,” Alicia replied. “What I really want is to know how my mom died.”

“I’ve already hired private investigators to look into that day,” Alexander said. “I’ll tell you as soon as there’s news.”

He leaned forward, kissed her forehead, and murmured, “Good night, Cathy.” Then he rose and slipped out.

Once he left, Alicia got up and returned to her computer.

Alexander didn’t notice Beatrice watching from the hallway. Her hands clenched in anger as she turned away and entered her room, where she found Winnie grinding her teeth.

“I’ll never let her off,” Winnie hissed. “She humiliated me. I’ve already paid a gang to attack her when she shows up at the company tomorrow. I hate her.”

Beatrice sneered. “I don’t like her either. Your father hovers over her like a fly—disgusting. I can’t wait for morning, to see her disgraced.”

Winnie’s eyes burned at the thought of what might happen to Alicia. Beatrice touched her arm. “Sleep. Don’t let Catherine’s affairs disturb you.”

“I’m going to bed,” Winnie said, and lay down.

At dawn, Winnie woke early, washed, and dressed. Beatrice hurried her along. “Get to the sitting room before Alicia. Let your father see you’re more prepared than Catherine.”

They descended the stairs—only to find Alicia and Alexander already deep in conversation. Winnie’s face darkened; her fists tightened. Beatrice’s expression fell.

“Good morning, Dad,” Winnie said, then shot Alicia a cold glance.

Instead of responding to Winnie, Alexander said, “You should greet your older sister as well.”

Winnie’s face soured. Beatrice bristled. “They’re both sisters. Forcing a hierarchy won’t make them bond, Alex. Let the children be.”

Alexander considered it and relented. He stood. “Let’s have breakfast.”

After they ate, he turned to Alicia. “Cathy, should I drive you?”

Beatrice’s glare hardened. He had never offered her a seat in his car since their marriage, nor had Winnie enjoyed that privilege—yet he was ready to take Alicia himself. Winnie’s resentment deepened.

“No need,” Alicia said, rising. “I can manage.” She was curious to see what mother and daughter had planned for her at the branch office.

She stood, brushed herself off, and strode out of the house. The moment she stepped onto the street, she spotted Andy’s car idling at the curb. Her brows knit, a thoughtful line appearing, and she rapped her knuckles against the windshield.

It slid down with a soft whir. “Get in,” Andy said.

Alicia circled to the passenger side and slipped into the seat. Buckling in, she angled him a teasing look. “Dear husband, are you planning to chauffeur your wife on the regular?”

Andy chuckled. “You seem awfully fond of my face. But I’m not much of a man anymore. If you insist on marrying me, you’ll end up with a cripple who can’t do his duty—just a pretty face to look at until you’re bored.”

Alicia leaned in, close enough that his expression flattened, the cabin air turning taut. “When I called you my husband,” she said quietly, “I wasn’t weighing ‘other things.’”

She eased back and reclined, a picture of nonchalance. Half the drive to the branch passed in companionable silence before Andy asked, “Can you handle them?”

“Yes. They’re just clowns—good for a laugh.” She tipped her chin forward. “Stop here.”

At his instruction, the car glided to the curb. Alicia stepped out, lingering until Andy made a U-turn and drove off. She lifted a hand in a bright, easy wave.

The instant his car disappeared down the street, her smile fell away. Her gaze cooled. She turned and headed for the company.

Five men slid into her path, brandishing knives and batons. “You gotta pay a f*e to use this street,” one said, voice flat.

Alicia glanced around: pedestrians flowed past, unbothered. Her lips curved into an eerie smile. “Are you asking for a beating?”

Their faces flickered with surprise. Then they burst into laughter.

“When we’re done roughing you up, we’ll take turns,” one sneered, licking his lips as he raked his eyes over her.

“So noisy,” Alicia snapped. “If you want to fight, hurry up. I’m busy.”

The taunt stung. “I’ll smash your head!” one roared, lunging with his club.

Alicia moved—clean, swift, efficient. She caught his wrist, pivoted, and drove her palm into his forehead. He crumpled to the pavement and didn’t stir.

The others stared, color draining from their faces.