Chapter 206

Elizabeth's POV

After I changed into my dress and finished my makeup, I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. My pregnancy was obvious by now, but the cut of the dress concealed the curve well enough that no one would notice unless they looked closely.

The color had come back to my face. There was light in my eyes again, not the bright shimmer of excitement, but something quieter, steadier, certain.

As I looked at my reflection, I suddenly thought of my father. When he died, I was barely in my twenties. I didn't understand anything back then, and I couldn't carry the weight of anything.

That wasn't true anymore.

Now I could carry a lot.

My phone buzzed with a text from Alexander. [Are you ready?]

[Ready. You?]

Alexander: [Downstairs.]

I picked up my bag and headed down.

Alexander was standing in the living room in a black suit with a dark gray tie, and the whole effect was sharp enough to make him look like a blade just drawn.

His gaze landed on me and traveled slowly from head to toe before stopping at my eyes. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." I walked over to him.

He held out his hand, and I took it.

His hand was warm and steady, without the slightest tremor.

"Let's go," he said.

"Okay."

As the car drove toward Windsor Estate, I looked out the window.

The weather was beautiful, all bright sun and a cloudless sky.

Most of the leaves had already fallen from the sycamores lining the road. The few that remained rustled in the wind, whispering like they had something to say about parting.

I leaned back against the seat and watched the scenery blur past, and a strange calm settled over me.

It wasn't that I wasn't afraid.

It was that fear that wouldn't change anything.

What was coming would come. What had to be faced would be faced.

And I wasn't going there alone.

He was beside me.

The car came to a stop at the foot of the hill.

Unlike before, the place was packed with cars today.

Black cars, dark cars, luxury models of every brand stretched from the base of the hill halfway up the slope. Men in suits and women in formal dresses walked up in small groups, laughter and conversation rising and falling in the air.

Alexander got out, came around to my side, opened the door, and held out his hand. "Ready?"

I took a deep breath and placed my hand in his palm. "Ready."

He held on to me as he led me uphill.

The moment people spotted Alexander, they moved aside and made room for us. Some nodded in greeting. Others whispered under their breath, their eyes flicking toward us before sliding away.

I could feel the curiosity in those looks, the scrutiny, and something less friendly underneath it, but I didn't shrink from any of it.

I kept my chin up and looked straight ahead.

The banquet hall stood beside Windsor Estate, a gray building with a dark roof and red balloons tied near the entrance.

Gray's eightieth birthday banquet was being held there.

The moment we walked inside, my gaze swept across the room.

The hall was huge, with more than a dozen tables, each one full. A massive birthday banner hung over the stage, and flower stands lined both sides. Gray sat in the center of the main table in a dark red suit, smiling, though the smile looked strained to me, as if he were trying very hard to play the part of a man celebrating his own good fortune.

Franklin sat on his left.

He was wearing a charcoal mandarin-collar jacket, his hair combed perfectly into place, and he looked far more polished than he had at Windsor Estate.

He was talking to the person beside him with an easy expression and relaxed posture, every inch the successful, respectable elder that people would instinctively trust.

If I hadn't known who he was, I might have thought well of him too.

But I knew exactly who he was.

Alexander led me to the main table.

Gray looked up, saw us, and his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say something. In the end, he only nodded and gestured to the seats beside him. "Sit."

Alexander pulled out my chair for me, and I sat down. Then he took the seat next to mine.

Franklin turned to us. His gaze paused on me for a second before shifting to Alexander's face.

"Alexander's here." His voice was gentle, as though nothing had ever happened. "This must be Ms. Spencer. I've heard so much about you."

He held out his hand.

I didn't move.

Neither did Alexander.

Franklin's hand hung there in the air for a few seconds before he drew it back and smiled. It was a perfect smile, the kind that suggested he didn't mind in the least.

The banquet began.

The emcee went onstage and offered the usual blessings, then told a few polished stories about Gray's accomplishments that drew waves of laughter from the room. Gray stood with a wineglass in hand and moved from table to table, making toasts.

When he reached ours, his eyes stopped on Alexander's face. "Alexander, this is my big day. Don't make a scene."

"I won't," Alexander said softly. "As long as he doesn't."

Gray's mouth tightened, but he said nothing. He simply moved on.

Alexander leaned closer and murmured in my ear, "It's starting."

I lifted my head and saw Franklin rise from his seat.

He walked to the front, took the microphone from the emcee, and the whole banquet hall gradually fell silent as every eye turned toward him.

He stood there under the lights, illuminated so cleanly that he looked like the rightful center of the room.

There was that same gentle smile on his face, warm and reassuring, the smile of a man who had never done anything wrong in his life.

"Family and friends, thank you all for coming today to celebrate my father's birthday." His voice carried through the speakers and filled the room. "He's eighty this year, and still in such good health. That's a blessing for all of us as his children. I've spent so many years overseas and wasn't able to stay by Gray's side. I've carried that guilt with me for a long time. So today, I want to take this chance to say something to Gray."

His voice caught.

His eyes reddened. "Dad, I'm sorry. I came home too late."

Applause broke out below the stage. A few people even wiped at their eyes. I sat there with my fingers twisted tightly in the edge of the tablecloth.

It was too good.

That raw sincerity. That belated confession. That perfectly played prodigal-son redemption arc.

He made it look flawless.

If I didn't know what he had done, I might have been moved too.

Gray set down his wineglass and rose unsteadily to his feet, then made his way to the stage.

He patted Franklin on the shoulder, his voice so hoarse it was almost impossible to hear. "You came back. That's what matters. You came back."

The two of them embraced onstage.

The room erupted in applause. I saw people standing, phones lifted to take pictures, others leaning in to whisper to one another.

No one remembered what Franklin had done.

No one remembered the people who had died.

No one remembered what had been written in that notebook.

All they could see was this moment.

This display of a loving father and devoted son.

This image of family reunited.

This bright, noisy picture of happiness and completion.

Alexander sat beside me without moving.

His expression never changed, but I noticed the way his fingers tightened around his wineglass until his knuckles went white.

"Alexander, do you want to come up and say a few words?" Gray called from the stage, beckoning to him.

Alexander didn't move.

"Alexander?" Gray's voice rose slightly.