Chapter 12
Alistair Wainwright entered the music parlor without asking.
Seventy.
Silver hair.
Black cane he did not need.
He looked at the destroyed room.
Then Celeste.
Then Marcus.
Finally me.
“This became messy.”
I almost smiled.
“Your children attacked mine.”
His eyes moved to Nora.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
He knew.
“How long?”
I asked.
Alistair said nothing.
“How long have you known Nora is my daughter?”
“Long enough.”
Mae flinched.
I stepped closer.
“You monitored a baby.”
“I monitored risk.”
Nora hid behind Mae.
Alistair noticed.
“Sensitive child.”
I stared.
“She was shoved onto marble.”
“Then she should learn to stay away from adult matters.”
Celeste smiled faintly.
There it was.
Same language.
Same family.
I understood where she got it.
Alistair looked at Mae.
“You were offered a quiet life.”
Mae laughed.
“Five hundred dollars and threats.”
“You were nobody.”
Nora looked up at her mother.
I saw the hurt.
I stepped between them.
“Say that again.”
Alistair raised an eyebrow.
“Still impulsive.”
Marcus almost smiled.
I looked at the old man.
“My mother warned Mae about your family.”
His expression changed.
Barely.
“Evelyn talked too much.”
“You knew her.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Did you try to marry into Ashford power through her?”
Silence.
Celeste looked at her father.
That was new to her.
I saw it.
Alistair sighed.
“Your mother was supposed to marry my brother.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“She chose your father instead.”
History shifted.
“Then?”
“She humiliated us.”
There it was.
Not heartbreak.
Status.
“She chose someone else.”
“She embarrassed my family.”
“And you spent thirty years angry?”
He smiled.
“Families remember.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Dad…”
Alistair ignored him.
I understood.
Celeste’s engagement to me was not simply political.
It was restoration.
An old Wainwright wound.
An old Ashford rejection.
They wanted my name because my mother once denied theirs.
I held up the ring.
“And Mae?”
Alistair looked at her with contempt.
“A repeat inconvenience.”
Mae’s face hardened.
He continued:
“Your mother chose beneath expectation.”
Then pointed at Mae.
“You almost did the same.”
I laughed.
“No.”
I looked at Nora.
“My mother chose freedom.”
Then Mae.
“So did I.”
May you like
Alistair’s expression changed.
Because the pattern he wanted to correct had just repeated itself in front of him.
