Chapter 164

Chapter 164

Later, after dinner ended and coffee replaced wine, smaller conversations formed around the room while music played softly through hidden speakers. I stepped outside onto the terrace for air, resting my hands against the stone railing while looking out over the city lights stretching endlessly into the distance.

“You always disappear when things get sentimental,” my dad said, stepping beside me.
“I just needed air,” I replied.

He nodded, leaning against the railing beside me, silent for a moment before speaking again.
“You handled tonight well,” he said.
“It was dinner,” I replied.

“It was more than that,” he corrected. “They weren’t celebrating graduation. They were acknowledging where you stand in this family now.”
I looked out at the garden, processing his words.
“Are you ready for that?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said honestly, surprising myself with how certain I felt.
He studied me quietly before nodding once.
“You remind me of myself at your age,” he said.
“I hear that a lot,” I replied.

“You’re steadier,” he added.
I turned slightly toward him.
“That’s because I watched you make mistakes first,” I said.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“Fair enough,” he admitted.

Inside, laughter rose again as Lila argued with her father about music choices, and my mom stood beside Aunt Angie near the table, both of them watching the room with quiet satisfaction, and I realized something simple but powerful. This wasn’t pressure; this was foundation.

This was a legacy built on love, mistakes, lessons, and loyalty, and standing there beside my father while our family filled the room behind us, I felt steady in a way I hadn’t before, like every step ahead might be complicated, demanding, and unpredictable, but it wasn’t something I had to face alone.

“You start Monday,” he said again, almost like a reminder.
“I know,” I replied.

“You nervous?”
“No,” I said after a moment. “Focused.”
He nodded slowly, satisfied with that answer.

When we walked back inside, my mom immediately pulled me into a hug like she had been waiting for me to return, and Lila tossed me a mock salute from across the room while Aunt Angie rolled her eyes at her daughter’s dramatics.
“You’re officially an adult now,” Lila announced.
“I’ve been an adult,” I replied.

“You graduated college and joined a billion-dollar company,” she corrected. “That’s different.”
“Coming from someone who’s already terrifying corporate clients at nineteen,” I said.
“That’s genetic,” she replied proudly.

The room filled with laughter again, and as I stood there surrounded by family, confidence settling deeper into my bones, I realized something I hadn’t fully understood until now. Graduation wasn’t the end, It was the moment the training wheels came off completely. And for the first time, I wasn’t just ready, I was ready to lead.

Lila

I watched Alexander from across the dining hall, slowly turning the stem of my wine glass between my fingers while pretending I cared about whatever conversation Mom and Dad were having beside me. I didn’t. Not tonight. Tonight felt different, heavier somehow, like the air itself knew something big had shifted and I hadn’t caught up yet.

Alexander stood near the center of the room surrounded by family, shoulders squared, posture relaxed but controlled, listening while Grandpa Arthur talked to him with that proud look he rarely tried to hide. The room buzzed with laughter and overlapping conversations, plates clinking, glasses refilling, and people moving around in that chaotic but comfortable rhythm our family gatherings always fell into, but my focus stayed locked on him.
He looked older tonight.

Not just because he had officially graduated or because he was stepping fully into Thorne Group beside Uncle Xander. It was something quieter than that. Something deeper. He carried himself differently now, like every movement had purpose behind it instead of instinct.

He still looked like Aunt Zia around the eyes, that strange silver shade catching the chandelier light in sharp flashes whenever he turned his head, but everything else about him screamed Uncle Xander. The jawline, the calm expression, the way he listened more than he spoke. Even the way people instinctively gave him space without realizing they were doing it.

“Stop analyzing him like he’s a business case study,” Mom said beside me, sipping her drink casually.
“I’m not analyzing,” I muttered.
“You’ve been staring for ten minutes,” she replied smoothly.
“I’m reminiscing,” I corrected, taking a sip of my wine.

Dad chuckled softly beside her, glancing toward Alexander before looking back at me. “He looks like a man now.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
“That bothers you?” Mom asked.
I shook my head slightly. “No. It just… feels weird.”

Mom nodded like she understood exactly what I meant, which she probably did. She had grown up alongside Aunt Zia. She knew what it looked like when the next generation stepped into responsibilities that used to belong to the people raising them.
“I remember when he tried to convince you to jump off the dock during that summer trip,” Dad added casually.

I groaned immediately. “He said the water wasn’t that cold.”
“You cried for ten minutes afterward,” Mom said.
“I was eight!” I defended.

“You pushed him in the lake the next day,” Dad reminded me.
“That was revenge,” I said firmly.
Dad laughed, shaking his head, while Mom just smiled into her glass.

I glanced back toward Alexander again as he leaned slightly toward Uncle Xander, both of them deep in conversation now. Their expressions mirrored each other so closely it almost felt unsettling. Uncle Xander wasn’t just teaching him business anymore. He was passing down something heavier than that. Something built from decades of pressure, leadership, expectations, and silent sacrifices most people would never understand.
Alexander didn’t look intimidated by it. He looked ready; that realization hit harder than I expected.

“You’ll be standing there next year,” Mom said quietly.
I blinked, turning toward her.

“Quantum isn’t an internship forever,” she added gently. “You’re already stepping into it whether you admit it or not.”
I exhaled slowly. “I know.”
“And?” she asked.
“I’m excited,” I admitted. “And terrified. Mostly both at the same time.”

Mom reached over, squeezing my hand briefly. “That means you care enough to do it right.”
I nodded, letting her words settle somewhere deep inside my chest while my attention drifted again, pulled backward through memories like someone flipping through old photo albums inside my head.

Alexander and I hadn’t always been this calm, reflective version of ourselves. Growing up with him meant chaos most of the time. Competitive chaos. Stubborn chaos. Sometimes borderline dangerous chaos.

There was the drone incident when we were teenagers. Alexander had been convinced he could build one from spare mechanical parts he found in Grandpa’s workshop. He dragged me into helping because apparently I was better with instructions, which really meant I read manuals while he ignored them.
The thing exploded during testing. It almost lit one of Grandpa’s storage sheds on fire. We got grounded for two weeks, and Alexander didn’t say a single word of complaint. He just sat in silence, rebuilding the drone blueprint over and over again until he figured out where he messed up.