Chapter 117
Grace's POV
After finishing everything, I sat cross-legged on my couch, picking at the takeout container in front of me. The pasta had gone cold twenty minutes ago, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
"Grace," his voice came through the speakers, low and concerned. "You're eating takeout again?"
I glanced down at the plastic container, then back at the screen with a sheepish smile. "It's efficient. Besides, I'm a single, independent businesswoman now. I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want. This is called freedom."
Alex's brow furrowed, and I could see him leaning closer to his camera. "Occasionally is fine, but you can't live like this every day. When I get back, I'm going to make sure you're properly taken care of."
Something warm unfurled in my chest at his words. I set down my fork and looked directly into the camera. "You know what's funny? When you're not here, even the most elaborate dinner feels tasteless. But with you, even ordinary food becomes delicious."
"I'll finish the work here as soon as possible," Alex's expression softened, his blue eyes intense even through the pixelated connection.
"Tell me about your day," I called over the noise of the dryer. "How are the negotiations going?"
"Complicated," he replied, his voice carrying easily over the sound. "But nothing I can't handle. The important thing is that I'll be home to you soon."
Home to me. The phrase sent warmth spreading through my entire body.
When I finished with my hair, I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. Alex was still watching, his expression soft and attentive.
"Better?" I asked.
"Perfect." He paused, then added quietly, "I want to watch you fall asleep. I need to know you're safe before I can rest."
I felt tears prick at my eyes unexpectedly. "Alex..."
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"I miss you." The words came out as barely a whisper. "I miss your hands, your warmth, the way you make me feel protected."
His expression grew pained. "I miss you too. More than I thought possible." He leaned closer to his camera. "Close your eyes, Grace. Imagine I'm right there with you."
I did as he asked, settling deeper into my pillows. "Are you there?"
"I'm right beside you," his voice came through the speakers, low and soothing. "My arm is around you, and you're safe. Nothing can hurt you while I'm here."
Even through a screen, he can make me feel this way.
"Goodnight, Alex," I murmured, my eyes still closed. "Dream of me."
"Always," he replied softly. "Goodnight, my dear. When I come back, I won't let you face any of this alone anymore."
The call ended, but I kept my eyes closed, holding onto the sound of his voice. I wrapped my arms around my pillow, imagining it was him, trying to capture some echo of his warmth and scent.
Just a few more days, I told myself. Then he'll be home.
---
Elizabeth's POV
I sat in my study's office chair, my fingers drumming rhythmically against the mahogany desk as I reviewed the documents spread before me.
Butler Barry approached with his usual measured steps. "Mrs. Wilson, I should mention that Master Andrew has been kneeling in the disciplinary chamber for four hours now."
Four hours. I glanced at my watch, coldly noting the time. Andrew's recent failures had been mounting – each attempt to undermine Grace had backfired spectacularly, and worse, these failures had damaged my standing within Wilson Holdings. The board members who once deferred to my judgment now questioned my decisions, whispering about my stepson's incompetence.
"Let him wait another hour," I said coolly. "Perhaps the additional time will help him reflect on his recent... disappointing performance."
Barry nodded slightly and retreated, leaving me alone with my thoughts. When I first adopted Andrew, he had been so promising – brilliant, ambitious, hungry for the power that came with the Wilson name. But lately, his strategies had become sloppy, his execution flawed. Two separate attempts to discredit Grace had not only failed but had somehow strengthened her position.
The boy is losing his edge.
---
The disciplinary chamber lay deep beneath the Wilson estate, converted from what had once been a Cold War-era bunker. The air hung thick and stagnant, carrying the musty scent of decades-old concrete and poor ventilation. In summer, the space became suffocatingly hot; in winter, it turned bone-chillingly cold. Today, the oppressive August heat had transformed it into a sauna of punishment.
I descended the narrow stairs, my heels clicking against the concrete steps with mechanical precision. The heavy metal door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap, I could see Andrew's silhouette.
He knelt in the center of the windowless room, his expensive shirt discarded and draped over a nearby chair. Sweat had soaked through his undershirt, his hair plastered to his forehead. His breathing came in measured intervals – he'd learned long ago that panic only made the ordeal worse.
This room had been Andrew's teacher since childhood. The longest stretch had been two weeks when he was fifteen, after he'd dared to question my authority in front of the household staff. He'd emerged from that experience... reformed.
I pushed the door open fully, and Andrew's head snapped up. His face was flushed from the heat, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating. Good. He hadn't broken.
"Mother," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "I accept full responsibility for my failures. I was overconfident, and my strategies were poorly executed."
I studied him for a long moment, noting the way his shoulders trembled slightly from exhaustion. "From the day I brought you into this family, Andrew, I made one thing clear: the Wilson family doesn't shelter the weak or the incompetent."
"I understand," he replied, lowering his gaze. "I've disappointed you. I won't make excuses."
"No," I agreed, circling him slowly. "You won't. Because excuses are for people who don't understand what's at stake. Grace isn't just some upstart heiress – she's a direct threat to everything we've built. Every failure on your part strengthens her position and weakens ours."
Andrew's jaw tightened, but he remained silent. He knew better than to speak without permission.
"Tell me, Andrew – what did you learn from this experience?"
He lifted his head, meeting my eyes with the kind of steel I'd spent years forging in him. "That underestimating Grace was my first mistake. She's not the vulnerable woman we assumed her to be. She has resources, connections, and most importantly, she has Alex Morgan's complete backing."
Better. "And?"
"That every move against her must be calculated with surgical precision. No room for error, no assumptions about her weaknesses." His voice grew stronger as he spoke. "She's playing a different game than we anticipated."
I nodded approvingly. "Rise."
"Clean yourself up and come to my study." With that, I turned and left.