Chapter 161
Zia
“This is disrespect from the child I carried for nine months,” she muttered.
“You cried during commercials when pregnant,” Lila reminded her sweetly.
“THAT WAS HORMONES,” Angie said.
“Uh huh,” Lila said.
I shook my head, warmth spreading through my chest watching them.
God, I loved this dynamic. After reviewing the document, I handed her back the tablet.
“Implement these minor adjustments,” I said. “Then shadow the investor call with me at two.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Really?”
“Really,” I said.
She nodded quickly, excitement flashing before she stood.
“Yes, Aunt Zia.”
She left the office with purpose in her step, already typing notes as she walked. The door closed behind her, and Angie immediately collapsed into the chair she just vacated.
“I’m not okay,” she declared.
I laughed.
“You raised her well,” I said.
“I raised a future heartbreaker or future heartbroken,” Angie corrected quietly.
I studied her. “You’re worried she’s going to fall in love,” I said.
“I’m worried she’s going to fall in love with someone who doesn’t deserve her,” she admitted.
That silence stretched for a moment. “Lucas will interrogate anyone she dates,” I said.
“Lucas will run background checks, financial checks, and probably blood tests,” Angie replied, and I smirked.
“Alexander will scare them off before Lucas even gets the chance,” I added.
Angie laughed softly.
“True.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor.
“She’s so open, Zia,” she whispered. “She believes people mean what they say. I don’t want life to take that from her.”
I softened, reaching across the desk and squeezing her hand.
“It won’t,” I said gently.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know because she’s surrounded by people who will help her stand back up if it ever happens.”
Angie looked at me, eyes glossy but smiling. “You’re talking from experience,” she said quietly.
I thought about Alexander’s first heartbreak. The way he walked through our door like the world had cracked open under his feet. The way he cried into my shoulder like he was five again.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“She’ll survive it,” I added. “And she’ll learn. And she’ll still be her.”
Angie nodded slowly. “I just wish time slowed down sometimes,” she said.
“Me too,” I whispered.
At two o’clock, Lila joined my investor call, sitting quietly beside me while taking notes. She observed how I spoke, how I negotiated tone, and how I steered conversations without letting investors realize they were being steered. After the call ended, she exhaled like she’d been holding her breath.
“That was intense,” she said.
“You handled it well,” I replied.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You watched. That’s everything in business.”
She smiled softly. “Alexander says the same thing,” she said.
Of course he did. Later that evening, Angie and I stood by the balcony windows watching Lila pack her bag, chatting with coworkers before heading out.
“She’s glowing,” Angie murmured.
“She’s finding her place,” I corrected.
Angie leaned her head against my shoulder, wrapping her arms around me. “You think she’s ready for the world?” she asked.I watched Lila laugh at something one of the assistants said, bright and confident and alive in ways that made my chest ache with pride.
“No one’s ever fully ready,” I said softly. “But she’s strong enough to face it.”
Angie nodded, wiping her eye discreetly. “Promise me something,” she said.
“Anything.”
“If she ever gets hurt… we don’t smother her. We help her stand.”
I squeezed her hand. “Deal,” I said.
Downstairs, Lila stepped outside the building, sunlight catching in her hair as she waved goodbye to staff before heading toward her car.
“She’s going to change things one day,” I murmured.
Angie smiled proudly.
“Yeah,” she said. “She already is.
I always thought I would be ready for this day, like somehow I would wake up emotionally prepared, calm, composed, proud but steady, the kind of mother who claps politely during graduation speeches while dabbing her eyes with dignity. I truly believed I would be that woman because I had handled wars, corporate battles, betrayals, stalkers, family chaos, and raising Alexander through every messy phase life threw at him, yet sitting in that crowded auditorium with the buzz of hundreds of families waiting for the ceremony to begin, I realized something simple and terrifying… I was absolutely not ready.
The air smelled like flowers, expensive perfume, and nerves. Parents shifted in their seats, siblings whispered, cameras flashed nonstop like paparazzi had invaded a university campus, and beside me, Xander sat with his usual calm confidence, one arm stretched along the back of my chair like he was grounding me without even saying a word. I rested my hand over his, squeezing lightly because if I didn’t hold onto him, I might actually start crying before the ceremony even began, and I refused to give him that satisfaction.
“You’re already tearing up,” he murmured quietly, amusement hiding in his voice.
“I am not,” I whispered back, blinking aggressively while keeping my eyes fixed on the stage.
“You cried during his kindergarten graduation,” he reminded me.
“That was different,” I muttered.
“He wore a paper crown and forgot the lyrics to the class song,” Xander said, clearly enjoying himself.
“He panicked and tried to sing the alphabet instead,” I corrected, my lips twitching despite myself.
Behind us, I heard Lucas chuckle softly while Angie leaned forward between our seats, already clutching tissues like she knew exactly how this was going to end for both of us.
“He looks nervous,” Angie whispered, pointing toward the student section where graduates sat in rows of black gowns and caps that made them all look the same, except they didn’t, because I spotted Alexander instantly like my entire body was wired to recognize him no matter what he wore or where he stood.
He sat taller than most around him, shoulders relaxed but alert, his hands resting casually on his lap while he spoke to someone beside him, and I felt that familiar punch to my chest when he laughed, that deep, confident laugh that sounded so much like Xander’s it still startled me sometimes.
“He’s not nervous,” Xander said quietly. “He’s scanning exits and counting security personnel.”
I glanced sideways at him. “You’re joking,” I said.
He raised one eyebrow.
I looked back at Alexander, watched him subtly shift his gaze across the auditorium like he was mapping the entire building, and sighed because of course he was, because he was our son and normal had never been part of his design.
Arthur sat a few seats down, posture straight, pride written across his face in that quiet, dignified way he carried himself, while Mom dabbed her eyes delicately beside him like she had already accepted defeat in the emotional control department. Grandmother Evelyn sat at the end of the row, regal as always, though I noticed her fingers tapping lightly against her cane in a rhythm that told me she was just as overwhelmed as the rest of us, even if she would never admit it out loud.