جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 50

Althea’s POVFor a moment, no one moved.The words sat in the room like a match held too close to gasoline.Project Thea.I looked at Nico first, then at Celeste, then at my parents, searching their faces for even one person who looked confused enough to make me feel less alone. But no one did. Not really. My mother looked frightened, my father looked furious, Kuya Adam looked like he wanted to tear the house apart brick by brick, and Celeste looked like someone who had just watched an old nightmare open its eyes again.Alexander’s hand tightened around mine.That was the only thing that kept me from feeling like the floor had shifted beneath me.“What is Project Thea?” I asked.Celeste didn’t answer immediately.I hated that pause.“Attorney Celeste,” I said, my voice colder this time. “What is Project Thea?”She inhaled slowly, then glanced at my father. “Sir Victor.”Dad’s jaw hardened. “Tell her.”Mom turned to him sharply. “Victor—”“No, Elena,” Dad said, his voice low but final.

Althea’s POVAlexander did not bring me back to my room.Instead, he led me through one of the quieter hallways of the mansion, his hand warm around mine, his pace slow enough that I knew he was adjusting to me even if he didn’t say it. Outside the windows, rain continued to fall in soft silver lines, turning the gardens blurry and quiet, and every now and then, thunder rolled somewhere far away, not loud enough to frighten me but close enough to remind me of the memory I had just pulled from the dark.I expected him to take me somewhere private so I could rest.What I didn’t expect was for him to stop in front of the old glass conservatory.The room had always been one of my mother’s favorite places in the mansion, though I rarely used it. It was filled with plants, white-cushioned seats, old wooden shelves, and hanging lights that made the space glow warmly even under gray weather. The rain tapped gently against the glass roof above us, but inside, it felt softer, safer, almo

Alexander’s POVAlthea stayed in my arms longer than I expected.No one spoke for a few seconds after she whispered those words against my chest, and even the people around us seemed to understand that the moment was not something they should interrupt carelessly. The security room remained tense, the damaged ribbon still lying inside the containment box like a piece of the past dragged out from the river, but all I could focus on was the way Althea’s hands gripped the front of my shirt.Don’t let go.The words were not meant for the room.They were not meant for the mayor, or the Winston name, or the man everyone expected to remain calm.They were meant for the boy who had once held her hand under the rain and refused to let the river take her.So I held her.“Never,” I said again, softer this time, because one answer did not feel like enough.Her fingers tightened once, then slowly loosened, as if her body had finally believed what I said even before her mind could catch up.Behind

Althea's POVI looked at her.“Angry,” I said honestly.She absorbed that without flinching. “And the recording?”“They want to paint me as my father’s son,” I said. “Not in blood. In scandal. They want the public to believe I’m using power the way they claimed he did.”“And me?”“You make the story stronger,” I said bitterly. “The Bailey heiress marries the mayor. Bailey ports. Winston permits. Old revenge. New corruption. They can twist all of it.”Althea’s face hardened. “Then we untwist it.”A laugh almost escaped me, but it came out more like a breath. “You make that sound simple.”“It isn’t,” she said. “But I’m angry, and apparently I come from a very stubborn bloodline.”“You do.”“And I married into one too, didn’t I?”I looked up at her.She was still standing close, one hand on my shoulder, the other holding the towel. Her eyes were steady now. Not free of fear, but brighter than it.“Yes,” I said. “You did.”“Then don’t pull your hand away again.”The words struck deep.She

Althea’s POVBy the time we returned to the study, my hand was still in Alexander’s, and no matter how many times I told myself it was only because the situation was tense, my fingers refused to let go. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the memories, or maybe it was the way he had looked at me in that room earlier—like I was not a burden, not a reminder of pain, not someone he blamed for the years he had spent remembering alone. He looked at me like I was something he had lost and found again, and that kind of gaze was dangerous because it made me want to believe in things I had been too wounded to trust.The study was quieter when we entered, though not peaceful. Files were spread across the table, Celeste was speaking softly to Director Reyes while Nico typed rapidly on his laptop, and my father stood near the window with a phone pressed to his ear, his expression cold enough to make whoever was on the other line regret answering. My mother sat nearby with Dr. Mira, but the moment