Chapter 19 The call
Alexander.
"What did you just say, you little rascal? You'd better not be playing with me!"
I sighed, rubbing my temple where a headache was already forming. "Noona, I'm really married now."
"You'd better not be joking with me, Alexander Angelo Graham, because if you are, I swear on your grandfather's grave—"
"I'm really not joking, Noona." I kept my voice steady and calm. "I got married. Today at the courthouse."
Another beat of silence followed.
Then she suddenly squealed.
Actually squealed like a teenager.
The sound was so high-pitched, so unexpectedly girlish, that I had to pull the phone away from my ear or risk permanent damage.
"Oh my God! OH MY GOD! Alexander, is this real? You're actually married? You, my stubborn, impossible grandson, you finally—"
"Yes, Noona. It's real." I kept my voice steady, even though guilt was already gnawing at my insides. "I got married today."
"Oh my goodness, but why wasn't I invited in fact why weren't we all invited are you sure this isn't a prank"
"It's not Noona, I promise, you can call Xavier and Nicholas, they'll confirm it, I'll even send you the pictures, she just wanted a small private wedding" I quickly blamed it on Dandelion to avoid anymore suspicion and to make it more believable.
"Really?, then she must be a good girl to not want so much attention, ahh!, I can't believe it. I just, I need to sit down. No, I need to stand up. No, I—" She laughed, breathless and delighted. "When can I meet her? Today? Tomorrow? No bring her to me right now!"
"We'll come for your birthday," I said firmly. "As planned."
"My birthday is weeks away!" Her tone became sharp in annoyance "I've waited years for you to settle down, and now you expect me to wait weeks to meet my new granddaughter-in-law? Absolutely not. I'm moving the party up."
I froze. "You're what?"
"You heard me. If you won't bring her sooner, I'll just have my birthday celebration earlier."
"Noona—"
"It's decided!" She sounded gleeful. "Oh, Alexander, I'm so happy I could cry. You have no idea how long I've prayed for this day."
My guilt twisted deeper.
She's going to find out, a voice whispered in my head. And when she does, it'll destroy her.
"This better not be a joke," she continued, her tone sharpening. "Or some elaborate prank to get me off your back. Because if you show up and I find out you've been lying to me..." She paused for effect. "You'll be carrying my corpse out of the hospital, Alexander. Do you understand?"
My jaw clenched. "I understand."
"Good. Because I'm too old, and my heart can't take—"
"You're not dying, Noona." Irritation bled into my voice. "Stop threatening me with your mortality every time you want something."
"I'll stop when you stop being difficult." She huffed. "And for the record, I'm not threatening. I'm simply stating facts. Stress is bad for my blood pressure. And lies make it worse."
"I'm not lying." The words tasted like ash. "I'm married. You'll meet her next week. That's the truth."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"We'll see," she said quietly. "We'll see at my birthday."
Then the line went dead.
I stood there, phone still in hand, staring at the blank screen.
She'd moved her entire birthday celebration up just to meet Dandelion.
Which meant we had a few days to convince the sharpest woman I knew that our marriage was real.
We're so screwed, I thought grimly.
I moved to the window, needing air, needing space, needing....
I stopped.
Down in the private garden, the one attached to my wing of the penthouse, Dandelion was walking in.
She was still in that cream dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. Moving slowly, like she was lost in thought.
I should've looked away.
Should've given her privacy.
But I didn't, it was as if my head was being pulled by a magnet.
I watched as she paused beside the flower bed in the corner. The one I had cultivated myself over the years. White roses and lavender, my mother's favorites.
Every year, I replanted them. Tended to them personally. Letting no one else touch them.
They were all I had left of her.
And Dandelion was reaching for one, her fingers brushed the petals of a white rose, gently and in admiration, and something in my chest tightened painfully.
Don't, I thought. Don't touch them.
But she did.
She even plucked a single white rose, brought it to her nose, and closed her eyes as she inhaled.
For a moment, she looked....peaceful. Almost beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with her face or her dress.
Just... quiet and still.
Then her expression crumpled.
She pressed the rose to her chest, her shoulders shaking, and I realized....
She was crying.
Silently and privately In the garden,
I should've stepped away from the window. Should've given her that moment.
But I couldn't move.
What are you thinking about? What's making you cry? I wondered, studying her. Was it the scandal? Your family? Chase?
She looked so small out there. So fragile and It irritated me.
She wasn't supposed to be fragile. She was supposed to be strong, angry, defiant, ready to fight. That's who I had offered the contract to.
Not this broken girl crying over flowers.
She needs to pull herself together, I thought coldly. The scandal is handled. The photos and videos are gone. She should be planning her comeback, not wallowing.
But even as I thought about it, I knew it wasn't fair.
I had avoided the media for years after my mother's death made me a complete orphan. I fled the country leaving my Noona and my Little Angel, just to escape the whispers, the pitying looks, the constant reminders of what I'd lost.
The accident had been brutal. Front-page on news for months.
'Tragic Car Crash Claims Two Lives: Prominent CEO and Billionaire's Wife Dead'
And I was only Seven. Too young to understand why everyone suddenly treated me differently. Why my classmates whispered when I walked by. Why teachers looked at me with that awful, suffocating pity.
I hated it, hated them.
Hated the media for turning my grief into entertainment.
That was why I ran. Transferred to a boarding school in Europe. Buried myself in work and control and something else that kept me from feeling any emotion.
And it had worked.
Until now. Until this woman stood in my garden, holding my mother's flower, crying like her heart was breaking.
Let it go, I told myself. It's just a flower, but I couldn't.
"I told her not to touch my things," I muttered, irritation flaring.
Even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself.
It wasn't just about the flower.
It was about the fact that seeing her cry made something crack in the walls I'd spent years building.
And I hated it.
Dandelion finally moved, carefully placing the rose back among the others like it was something precious.
She wiped her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and walked back toward the penthouse.
I stepped away from the window before she could see me.
Quickly grabbed my jacket and left.
Now I need to bury myself in work, and it's her fault, because now I can't seem to forget about the cream dress on her body, the stolen flower and the way she cried so heartbroken.
Remembering everything kept leaving an annoying painful pinch in my heart.