Chapter 43 OLD LIFE
Alexander lay still in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His watch on the nightstand read 1:38 a.m., but sleep was nowhere near. The sheets were smooth, the mattress soft. Everything around him was comfortable, yet he felt restless.
Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Vivienne and how her face fell apart as she pulled off the mocap helmet, tears running freely down her cheeks. The embarrassment on her face stayed with him. So did the anger.
He had pushed her through eighteen takes without stopping, without mercy, without guidance.
“I’m doing my best.”
Her voice replayed in his head.
He turned onto his side and shoved the pillow around until it felt right. But that did not help him feel better.
The image of her standing in the studio, worn down and close to breaking, made his chest feel tight. He had not meant to be cruel, but that did not change the fact that he had been.
It reminded him too much of his father, and that made it feel ten times worse. He never wanted to be anything like that man.
Alexander let out a soft breath. At least their conversation on the stairwell had changed something. And when Vivienne opened up about CrossLight’s financial trouble, he had finally understood what she was dealing with.
She was under pressure, trying to keep things afloat, and refusing to give up even when everything was stacked against her.
He admired her for that. He regretted wanting to use that against her at first.
Another bad trait of his father he picked up.
He sat up, ran a hand through his hair, picked up the glass of water by his side table, and gulped it.
Suddenly he felt like he needed to do something to make it up to her. Something like a gift. Not to make things awkward, but just to acknowledge what had happened.
He wanted it to be thoughtful.
He thought about a gift basket, but that felt lazy. Coffee from the Blue Roof place she mentioned came closer, but it still did not feel right.
What about dinner? Something simple, somewhere quiet, where they could talk and get to know each other better. That wouldn’t be inappropriate, or would it?
As he considered it, his thoughts shifted to Noah.
Maybe he could take her and Noah for an ice cream date. Lily would love that idea too, and maybe it would help Vivienne stop seeing him only as her boss.
Alexander frowned.
Was that crossing a line? A CEO taking an employee and her child for ice cream, would that seem even more inappropriate? The last thing he wanted was for Vivienne to think he was using her situation or her son to manipulate her.
A simple, well-thought-out gift made more sense. Something that recognized their rough start without making things awkward.
Maybe a nice sketchbook for Noah, since Vivienne said he liked to draw. That would show that he cared and that he had been paying attention.
He picked up his phone to message Jane, but the screen lit up with an incoming call instead.
Camille.
His stomach tightened. He stared at the screen, debating whether to let it go to voicemail.
It had been three years since he last spoke to her. Three quiet years after their last fight. Why was she calling him now?
The phone kept vibrating in his hand. He knew she would keep calling until he picked up. Camille was good at being persistent.
He answered.
“It’s after one in the morning, Camille.”
“And yet you’re awake,” she said lightly. “Some things never change. Hi, Alex.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I’m back in New York,” she said. “For good. The London office is shutting down.”
“Good for you,” he replied, already moving toward the window. The city lights spread out below him. “Is that all?”
She laughed softly. “Not even close. I want to talk to you. In person.”
“I’m busy.”
“Yes, your mother told me all about your new project,” she said. Her tone shifted. “Tyranny. Very domestic of you. Finally something of your own, aside from what your father left behind.”
His jaw tightened. Of course his mother had been talking to her.
“I have to go,” he said. “Don’t call me again.”
“Alex…”
He ended the call and set the phone down carefully. He wanted to throw it across the room, but he forced himself not to.
Everyone had assumed he would marry her. She had been perfect on paper, with the right background and the right connections. His mother had practically planned the wedding herself. When it all fell apart, his mother had treated it like a personal embarrassment.
Three years away from her had felt like freedom. Now it felt temporary.
The phone vibrated again.
This time it was his mother.
He answered, already knowing where it was headed.
“It’s late, Mother,” he said.
“Camille is back,” Victoria said. “This is your opportunity to fix things.”
“We’ve talked about this,” he replied. “It’s over between me and Camille.”
“It’s not over until I say it is,” she snapped. “You embarrassed this family when you called off that wedding. Do you have any idea how many bridges you burned? The connections lost?”
“I know how you feel,” he said. “But I’m not changing my mind.”
“You’re being childish.” The familiar disappointment laced her voice. “Every eligible woman in New York, and you choose that good-for-nothing Elara.”
“Mother, please leave Elara out of this.” He could almost feel the pulse in his vein.
“She is long gone anyway,” she said. “You will meet with Camille, Alexander. You will hear what she has to say.”
“And if I don’t?”
There was a pause.
“I will withhold your father’s will until you stop disobeying your mother. You’ve had your rebellion. It’s time to come back to reality.”
“Mother, this is ridiculous—”
“I’m not finished.” Her voice cut through his protest. “The board meeting next month. I’ll bring it to a vote. Your leadership has been… adequate. But not irreplaceable.”
She wasn’t bluffing. His mother held enough shares, enough influence with the board, to make good on her threat.
“You wouldn’t,” he said, but he knew his mother too well.
“Try me.” Two simple words, delivered with absolute conviction. “Listen to what she has to say, Alexander. That’s all I’m asking. For now.”
The line went dead before he could respond.
Alexander stood still by the window, staring at the phone in his hand as if it could tell him what had just happened. His carefully built independence and hard-won freedom from his mother’s control were suddenly in danger again.