Chapter 192

Chapter 192

Elizabeth's POV

"Did you find it?" He asked.

"Yeah." Alexander set the envelope on the coffee table.

Gray didn't reach for it. He only stared at the envelope for a long time.

"You read it?"

"I did."

Gray closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

There wasn't much expression on his face, but I noticed the hand gripping his cane was trembling ever so slightly.

"Alexander, do you understand what it means to bring this out into the open?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

Alexander didn't answer.

He pulled the notebook from the envelope, flipped to that page, and placed it in front of Gray. "Fifteen years ago, my parents' deaths weren't an accident."

Gray's eyes opened a sliver, his gaze falling on those few lines.

His fingers tightened slowly around the cane until his knuckles turned white.

He didn't speak. He didn't move. He just stared at the words as if he couldn't recognize them.

"What are you going to do?" Alexander asked.

It was the exact same question he'd asked fifteen years ago.

Back then, he had come to Gray with transfer records and asked the very same thing: "What are you going to do?" Gray's answer had been, "There's no proof. We can't accuse anyone without it."

Now the proof was right here.

Gray stayed silent for a long time, so long that the sunlight shifted from the main sitting room to the side hall, so long that the shadow of the osmanthus tree in the yard stretched farther and farther across the ground.

At last, he spoke, his voice rough to the point of sounding unfamiliar. "I'll handle it."

"How?"

"Alexander."

"That's what you said fifteen years ago." Alexander's voice wasn't loud, but every word landed like a nail driven into the room, driven straight into Gray. "You said you'd handle it. I waited fifteen years."

Gray's lips were shaking.

"He's your son," Alexander said. "But I'm your grandson."

When those words fell, the entire room went silent, as still as an empty grave.

I looked at Gray's face, that face carved by time and power, and something in it was collapsing. Not all at once. Not with a crash. Little by little, soundlessly, like sand being carried away by the wind.

"Alexander, let your grandfather think."

"You have one month." Alexander rose to his feet and looked down at him. "Next month, on the eighteenth, at your birthday banquet, I want an answer before then."

He turned and walked out.

I followed him. At the doorway, I stopped and looked back at Gray.

He sat there in the high-backed chair, the notebook in his hands, his head lowered, as if he had aged ten years in a single moment.

I didn't know what he was thinking. I didn't know if he would really deal with it. I didn't know whether he would choose his son or his grandson.

But all at once, I felt sorry for him.

Not because he was old. Because he had lived his whole life only to find that, in the end, he couldn't control any of it.

On the drive back, Alexander drove fast.

Wind poured through the open window, tossing his hair into disarray. He didn't speak, and neither did I.

When the car pulled into the villa, he didn't turn off the engine. He just sat in the driver's seat, both hands gripping the wheel, staring straight ahead.

"Alexander," I said.

"Yeah."

"You gave him a month. What if he doesn't do anything?"

"Then I'll handle it myself."

"How?"

He turned to look at me.

Sunlight fell into his eyes, and in those eyes, usually so controlled, it looked like two flames were burning.

"I'll go to the police," he said. "Everything Franklin has done is enough to keep him in prison for the rest of his life. I don't need The Windsor Family's permission. I don't need Grandpa's approval. I just need evidence."

"That notebook is evidence."

"Yes."

"Then why not go straight to the police? Why give him a month?"

Alexander was quiet for a moment.

"Because he's part of The Windsor Family. Because those things happened on The Windsor Family's ground. Because what The Windsor Family owes my parents is more than just their lives."

He killed the engine and pushed open the car door.

"One month from now, whether he gives me an answer or not, I'll do what I need to do."

I watched him walk into the villa and was suddenly struck by how alone he looked.

Not the kind of loneliness that comes from being by yourself. The other kind. The kind where you're surrounded by people and not one of them truly understands you. He had carried this for fifteen years, carried it until everyone thought he'd let it go, carried it until even he seemed to forget what exhaustion felt like.

But I knew he hadn't let it go. He had only buried everything inside himself, pressing it down and down until he couldn't anymore, until he finally had to bring it back into the light.

That night, Alexander sat in the study with the notebook open in front of him, turning the pages one by one.

He wasn't looking for anything. He was just turning them, as if he wanted to carve every word into his mind.

I brought in a cup of hot tea and set it on the desk.

"You're still not sleeping?" He asked.

"I can't sleep." He glanced at me and said nothing. I sat across from him and watched him turn those yellowed pages.

"Alexander."

"Yeah."

"Where are your parents buried?"

His hand paused.

"At the cemetery in Galaxy District."

"I want to go see them."

He lifted his head and looked at me. "Why?"

"Because you told me about them," I said. "I want to see them and tell them their son is doing well, that he works so hard, that he's strong. I want to tell them he isn't alone anymore."

Alexander looked at me, and his eyes reddened.

He didn't speak. He only lowered his head and kept turning the pages of the notebook.

But I noticed his movements were slow, as if he were thinking about something he didn't know how to say.

"I'll take you this weekend." His voice was slightly hoarse.

"Okay."

That night, he went to bed very late.

I lay in bed listening to the occasional sound of pages turning from the study, and for some reason, I felt calm.

Not because anything had been resolved. Because I knew that no matter what happened, he wouldn't carry it alone anymore. And neither would I let him.

The next morning, Alexander left two hours earlier than usual.

When I came downstairs, Lisa told me he had gone before dawn and had specifically said not to wake me.

The breakfast the nutritionist had prepared was still set out on the table.

But there was a note tucked beneath the plate. Three words were written on it.

[Wait for me.]

I frowned, a quiet unease stirring in my chest.

Going in early wasn't unheard of, but leaving a note like this was rare.

I picked up my phone and sent him a message.

[Where did you go?]

The message went through, but no reply came right away.

I waited five minutes, then another five. My phone stayed silent.

I called him. It rang four times before he answered.

"I'm at the office." His voice was calm, but in the background, I could hear papers being flipped through, more than one stack, more than one person.

"This early?"

"There are some things I need to take care of." He paused. "I'll tell you tonight when I get home."