Chapter 806:

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Even with that task finished, Alden could feel Angela’s eyes lingering on him. Her teasing grin made her intentions clear. “So, are you finished being the perfect gentleman?”

A vague sense of dread washed over Alden. “I am… I think,” he answered.

Angela shed any hint of pleasantries. “Alden, I think you and I have unfinished business.” Years’ worth of worry and old pain finally found a voice, each word heavy with feeling for Delaney. Blame for everything, fair or not, landed right at Alden’s feet.

Alden’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Me?” He felt the sting of injustice but kept quiet about Chadwick and Zayden. There was no sense in turning it into a blame game. After weighing his options, he forced himself to take responsibility, even if it stung.

With deliberate seriousness, Angela said, “Now that your mother is under your roof again, do right by her. If you let her down, you’ll have to answer to me.”

A quick nod came from Alden. “I understand.” It was all his father’s mistake, after all—and a son was responsible for settling his father’s debts.

Angela noticed he handled it without fuss, so she eased up and tossed in a few final comments before letting it go. Just as she lifted her head, she froze. Ella had arrived without a sound and now stood at the far end of the hallway, watching them closely.

Angela shifted her attention back to Helena. “Helena, keep this in mind. Women were never meant to be rivals. We gain nothing from treating each other that way.”

Most people assumed she and Delaney were bitter enemies. But that was just everyone else projecting their own assumptions. Helena had always held on to those words, treating them as a guiding belief in her own life. She could tell Angela wasn’t saying it for her. She was saying it for Ella.

I𝗇𝘵𝘦𝗇s𝘦 𝘳om𝖺nce 𝗼𝘯 𝗀𝖺𝗅ոo𝘷𝖾𝗹ѕ.𝘤𝘰𝘮

Helena turned to glance down the hallway—but by then, Ella was already gone.

The sun was dipping low over Cheson when Valeria finally stood before the Morrison estate. She’d driven past it twice, each time talking herself out of turning in. On the third pass, she pulled over and sat with the engine running for a full five minutes.

Enough, she told herself. She was a therapist. She understood avoidance better than anyone.

She rang the bell.

It was Betty who answered—and the surprise on her face gave way almost instantly to something that looked dangerously close to relief. “Dr. Clark.” She stepped aside without another word.

Dorian was in the study, sitting in the dark. Not dramatically—there was simply no lamp on, and the evening had crept in around him without his notice. He looked up when the door opened, expecting his mother. When he saw Valeria, he went completely still.

She took in the shadows under his eyes and the wrapped knuckles resting on the desk, and felt the familiar pull of her professional composure—the steady, calibrated distance she wore like armor at work. This time, she let it go.

“You look terrible,” she said.

“I know.” His voice was rough, like something long unused.

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