Chapter Three
Alec's car cut smoothly along the serpentine country road lined with towering oak trees, their branches casting long, twisting shadows as the late afternoon sun dipped lower behind the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming gardenias, a sharp contrast to the sterile, glassy maze of his city office where he had spent the better part of the day. Yet here, surrounded by the sprawling green estate of his childhood, Alec felt a different kind of pressure—one far less tangible but just as heavy.
The Hawthorne estate had always been a symbol of tradition and expectation, a kingdom ruled over by his mother, Lady Hawthorne, with an unyielding hand and razor-sharp eyes. The grand stone mansion came into view, its gothic spires piercing the sky, windows gleaming gold in the dying light. Despite the beauty and majesty, Alec felt every step toward the imposing front doors like a march into a battlefield.
The massive oak doors swung open before he could knock, revealing his mother standing perfectly poised in the entryway—a vision of grace and austere command. Her tailored ivory dress shimmered faintly in the light, and her silver hair was pulled back tightly, revealing the sharp angles of her face that rarely softened.
"Alec," she greeted, her voice smooth but edged with unspoken expectations. "It's good to see you. We mustn't allow so much time to pass between visits, despite our busy lives."
He returned her polite smile, stepping into the cool air of the grand entrance hall, where the scent of polished wood and old leather lingered like a forgotten promise. "I've been meaning to come more often," he said, though both knew it was an excuse.
Lady Hawthorne's gaze swept him from head to toe, her eyes narrowing ever slightly as if she were measuring the man before her against some invisible standard. "And how are you managing your affairs? Still steering the family business with the care and precision we expect?"
"Of course," Alec replied, keeping his voice steady. "The company is in good hands."
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she led him into the drawing room, a space bathed in warm candlelight despite the advancing dusk. Velvet drapes framed the tall windows; portraits of long-deceased Hawthornes glared down from the walls, their painted eyes judging from the shadows. Two crystal decanters sat on a sideboard, their contents reflecting the flickering flames of the fireplace.
They both seated themselves, but the air between them was thick, heavy with words unsaid and battles yet to be fought.
"Alec," Lady Hawthorne began carefully, hands folded in her lap, "we must address the matter of your future."
He already knew what was coming but braced himself nevertheless. "Mother," he said softly, "I am fully aware of the expectations."
"It's not just an expectation," she corrected sharply, "it is a necessity. You are the last male heir. The family line depends on you. Your legacy is at stake."
Alec leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I want to do the right thing. I want to choose the right woman."
Her expression hardened. "Then let me be clear—I do not want to hear her name again."
Violet.
The word hung in the air like a poison. Alec felt his throat tighten even as he nodded slowly, trying to keep his voice calm.
"Mother…"
Lady Hawthorne cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Violet was a mistake, Alec. A folly born of youthful blindness and misplaced trust."
He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to argue. Years of silence had built a wall between them, but hearing his mother's cold verdict renewed the sting.
"She is a gold digger," Lady Hawthorne continued, her voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper. "She sought to climb into our world, to prey on your status and fortune. The proof is clear to everyone who looks."
Alec's breath caught. "Proof?" he challenged, voice barely above a whisper.
"Rumors, whispers—stories that I have heard and seen with my own eyes. She played a part in schemes to deceive you, to manipulate your generosity. She vanished without a trace, leaving behind only questions and shame."
"But I loved her," Alec said, his voice raw. "And even now, I do not understand why she left."
Lady Hawthorne leaned back, eyes narrowing with impatience. "Love is irrelevant when the woman is a fraud. You must forget her, Alec. Move on with your life before she ruins what you have built."
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. "You don't know everything," he insisted. "I'm not so sure she was the person you describe."
His mother's eyes glittered with a cold fire. "Do not mistake my opinions, Alec. I know more than you think, and I will protect this family name at any cost."
He looked away, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. Here, beneath the grandeur and tradition, lay a battlefield of loyalties and truths he wasn't sure which side to fight for anymore.
"Whatever happens," she said, her tone softer but no less commanding, "remember that your duty is to the family. Not to a woman who would see it all fall apart."
Alec nodded, but inside, a storm raged. Could he truly let go of the woman he had once pledged everything to? Could he bury the secret he still held—a fragment of hope that perhaps she had never meant to betray him?
He hesitated by the door, the weight of their conversation pressing down like the heavy velvet curtains in the room he was leaving behind.
"Thank you for your counsel, Mother," he said quietly. "I will consider it carefully."
But as the night swallowed the estate and the distant stars blinked cold above, Alec felt the first cracks in his carefully built world. The path ahead was uncertain and tangled with shadows—between love and duty, between truth and betrayal—and he could no longer turn away.