5

Alex's POV

"No,” I said immediately.

Every single pair of eyes turned to me. Mr. Hargrove, Mr. Mars, and Dean. All three of them, staring at me like I had just slapped someone across the face.

I straightened up in my chair, lifting my chin even though my heart was hammering so hard against my ribs.

"I don't need the inheritance," I told them, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. "Not if it comes with all of this."

I gestured vaguely toward the papers on the desk, toward Dean, toward everything.

"I understand my mother wanted what was best for me. I do. And I respect that, more than anything. But I can't let her control my life like this. Not even from the grave."

My hands were shaking under the desk where no one could see them, but my face was calm.

Mr. Hargrove cleared his throat. It was the kind of sound that immediately told me I wasn't going to like what came next.

He shuffled through his papers slowly, like he was giving me one last chance to brace myself.

"It seems, Miss Chen, that your mother anticipated you might respond this way."

My stomach dropped.

He lifted his glasses and looked at me over the rim of them.

"She added a secondary clause to the will. Should you refuse the terms of the inheritance, you will be required to reimburse her estate for all expenses incurred in raising and supporting you from birth to the present day. The total amount has been calculated and documented here."

He turned the paper around and slid it across the desk toward me.

I leaned forward and my eyes found the number.

Four hundred and thirty-two million dollars.

My jaw literally dropped. I could feel it, the way my mouth just fell open like a fish gasping for air.

Four hundred and thirty-two fucking million dollars?

I had debts back in Boston. Real debts. Student loans, rent I owed my landlord, credit cards I had been chipping away at for months. I was barely getting by with the little my paintings brought in.

Where on earth was I supposed to pull this amount from? Hell?

This was a trap. A full, calculated, airtight trap. My mother had planned this down to the very last detail, and she had done it from her deathbed.

Stay in this house for a year. Let Dean, of all people, find me a husband. Or pay a sum of money I could never, not in a lifetime, come close to having.

Those were my only two options.

I swallowed hard.

The scraping sound of a chair pulled me out of my spiral.

I looked up and Dean was already on his feet, his expression unreadable as always; those blue eyes giving nothing away.

He reached for his tobacco pipe from the small tray beside him and tapped it gently before dropping it back down.

He slid his hands into the pockets of his large coat and looked at Mr. Hargrove.

"If that's everything, I'll excuse myself. I need to see the guests out."

He didn't wait for a response. He just turned and walked toward the door. He didn't look at me again. Not once.

Mr. Hargrove and Mr. Mars both turned to me. Waiting. Their eyes patient but expectant, like I was supposed to have an answer right then and there.

I couldn't breathe properly. My chest felt tight and my fingers were gripping the armrests of the chair so hard.

"I need time," I told them. "To think about this. I need time to make a decision."

Mr. Hargrove nodded slowly. He gathered his papers, tapped them neatly against the desk, and slid them back into his briefcase.

"Of course, Miss Chen. Take what you need. But please don't take too long. The terms have a deadline written into the document. I'll leave a copy here for you to review at your own pace."

He placed a folded set of papers on the edge of the desk and stood up, buttoning his jacket.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he added, giving me a respectful nod before heading for the door.

Mr. Mars lingered for a second longer, his old eyes soft with something that looked like pity. Then he followed the lawyer out without a word, and the door shut again.

And just like that, I was alone.

I slumped back into the chair, all the tension draining out of my body at once, leaving me feeling hollow and heavy.

I stared at the ceiling, at the old wooden beams up there that I had stared at a thousand times as a teenager when I used to sneak into this room to read.

Stay in this house for a full year. With him. While searching for a husband.

No. Absolutely not. I couldn't do it.

I was being asked to throw all I had built these past years, away and come back here, under the same roof as the man who had humiliated me in the worst way possible, and let him hand me off to some stranger like I was a package to be delivered.

Every single thing I had done to forget him, to move on, to stop dreaming about him every single night; all of it would be undone the moment I agreed to stay.

I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes and breathed in deep, slow breaths until my chest stopped shaking.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally pushed myself out of the chair and left the study.

The house was quieter now. The last of the funeral guests had gone, and the hallways were empty except for the occasional staff member passing through with trays or folded linens.

Everything smelled the same; the faint hint of lavender that Mum had always kept in the air fresheners. It made my chest ache.

I climbed the stairs slowly, one hand on the banister, and made my way to my old bedroom at the end of the hall.

When I pushed the door open, I stopped for a second.

Nothing had changed. Not a single thing.

The same bed with the same white duvet. The same vanity mirror. My old sketchbooks still lined up on the shelf by the window. The same curtains that let in just enough light in the mornings to make the room glow.

It was like stepping into a time capsule. Like the room had just been sitting here, holding its breath, waiting for me to walk back in.

Someone had kept it clean. Spotless, actually. Not a speck of dust anywhere, the sheets fresh and crisp like they had been changed that very morning.

I walked in slowly, running my fingers along the edge of the dresser, then the bookshelf. Everything exactly where I had left it four years ago.

When I finally got to the bed, I sat down on the edge and the mattress dipped under me in that familiar way.

All those nights, touching myself under these sheets while my mind conjured up every possible version of him. His hands. His voice. The way his eyes looked when they were dark and focused.

I had done things in this bed that I could never take back, and now I was supposed to sleep here again, under the same roof as him, pretending none of it ever happened.

I pressed my lips together hard and stared at the floor.

A knock on the door startled me out of my thoughts. I blinked and cleared my throat quickly.

"Come in."

The door opened and Mr. Mars poked his head in, holding a small notepad in one hand.

"Miss Alex, I hope I'm not disturbing you. I just wanted to check in. Would you like me to have something prepared for dinner? Cook has a few options tonight; a light soup, some pasta, or if you'd prefer, something heavier."

I shook my head gently, forcing a small smile. "Thank you, Mr. Mars. Really. But I don't have much of an appetite tonight. I think I'll skip dinner."

He nodded.

"Of course, miss. But if you change your mind later, even if it's late, just ring the bell and we'll have something ready in minutes. You know that."

"I know. Thank you."

He lingered for a moment, then he glanced around the room, taking in the untouched shelves, the neatly made bed, the way everything was preserved exactly as it had been.

I followed his gaze and then looked back at him.

"Mr. Mars, thank you for keeping my room so clean all these years. Really. It means more than you know."

A small, warm smile crossed his weathered face. He bowed his head slightly, the way he always used to.

"You're very welcome, miss. Though I must be honest with you; it wasn't really me instructing the cleaning. Or the maintaining."

I tilted my head, confused.

"What do you mean?"

Mr. Mars folded his hands in front of him and met my eyes.

"It was Mr. Dean Billie. Every time your late mother suggested we repurpose the room or clear it out, he refused. He made sure it stayed exactly as you left it and had the staff clean it from time to time. Made sure nothing was touched."