Chapter 409
Chapter 409:
The car rolled up the long driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Alexander sat motionless in the passenger seat, his face a mask as he stared at the mansion ahead. Camille drove, giving him the freedom to absorb the sight of his childhood home after seven years away.
“We can still turn around,” she said softly.
Alexander shook his head. “No. I need to do this.”
The Pierce estate stood proud against the autumn sky, all gray stone and windows. A place built to show wealth, not to give warmth. Two figures waited on the wide front steps. Eleanor and Edward Pierce, standing close yet somehow apart.
“They look nervous,” Camille observed.
“Good.” Alexander straightened his tie, a gesture Camille recognized as his way of gathering strength. “They should be.”
She parked near the entrance, turning off the engine. The sudden silence felt heavy.
“Remember,” she said, taking his hand. “Whatever happens in there, I’m with you.”
Alexander’s fingers tightened around hers. “The last time I walked out these doors, I was nineteen and they told me not to come back until I ‘saw reason.’ Until I stopped ‘slandering’ my brother.”
The bitterness in his voice made Camille ache for the young man he’d been—wounded, betrayed, alone.
“Let’s go,” he said, opening his door before she could respond.
The air smelled of cut grass and autumn leaves as they walked toward the house. Eleanor took a half-step forward, then stopped, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles shone white. Edward stood rigid, his face unreadable beneath his silver hair.
“Alexander,” Eleanor said, her voice trembling slightly. “Thank you for coming.” Alexander gave a curt nod, offering nothing more.
“Please, come inside,” Edward said, his deep voice less steady than Camille had expected.
Alexander took her hand as they followed his parents into the house. The entrance hall loomed vast and cold, marble floors and high ceilings creating an echo chamber. Family portraits lined the walls, generations of Pierces staring down with identical blue eyes. Camille noticed the most recent portrait—a younger Alexander standing behind his seated parents, James at their side.
Stay updated with gⱯlnσvℯ𝓁s․com
Alexander’s eyes lingered on it as they passed.
“We can sit in the library,” Eleanor suggested, leading them down a hallway.
The library felt warmer than the rest of the house, lined with books from floor to ceiling. A fire burned in the massive stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on leather chairs and heavy wooden tables. It looked like a room where people might actually live, not just exist for show.
“You’ve kept it the same,” Alexander said, the first words he’d spoken since entering.
Eleanor nodded. “It was always your favorite room.”
.
.
.