Chapter 402

Chapter 402:

Her assistant’s voice came through the intercom. “Ms. Kane? There’s someone here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment.”

Camille frowned. “Who is it?”

“A Mrs. Pierce. She says it’s personal.”

Camille’s hand froze. Pierce. Alexander’s family name. But he rarely spoke of his parents, and when he did, his voice turned cold in a way that reminded her of Victoria at her most distant.

“Send her in,” Camille said, smoothing her skirt as she stood.

The woman who entered moved with quiet grace, her shoulders pulled back despite the obvious tension on her face. She was tall and slim, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a neat bun. Her clothes were expensive but understated. But it was her eyes that caught Camille’s attention. They were Alexander’s eyes exactly, the same deep blue that could shift from warmth to ice in seconds.

“Ms. Kane,” the woman said, her voice soft but steady. “Thank you for seeing me without notice. I’m Eleanor Pierce.”

Camille gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Please, sit down.”

Eleanor perched on the edge of the seat, clutching her handbag like a shield. “I imagine this is quite surprising. Alexander doesn’t know I’m here.”

“He’s never mentioned you would visit,” Camille agreed, studying the woman’s face. The resemblance was unmistakable now.

“He wouldn’t,” Eleanor said, pain flashing across her features. “My son hasn’t spoken to me or his father in almost seven years. Not even when we begged him to after James died.”

The rawness in Eleanor’s voice made Camille pause. Alexander had told her fragments of his history: about the car accident, his brother walking away unscathed while Alexander spent months in the hospital; about his family choosing sides; about his brother’s death four years ago and his parents’ desperate attempts to reconnect that he’d ruthlessly rebuffed.

“Mrs. Pierce, why have you come to me now? After all this time?”

Eleanor’s fingers whitened around her bag. “Because I’m running out of hope.” Her voice cracked. “Four years of silence. Four years of trying to reach him with no response.”

The admission hung in the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” Camille said quietly.

Eleanor shook her head, a tear escaping. “Don’t be. I’ve had four years of letters returned unopened. Four years of calls ignored. Four years standing outside his building just hoping to catch a glimpse of him.” Her composure fractured. “Do you know what it’s like to see your child on magazine covers and realize you don’t know him anymore? To watch him receive awards, build companies, fall in love—all from a distance?”

“We failed him,” Eleanor continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “When he needed us most, we failed him. His father and I… we made a choice so terrible I wake up choking on it every night.”

Camille remained silent, letting the woman speak.

.

.

.