Chapter 25 CHAPTER 25: The Cost of Nonattendance
Auren’s POV
The grand foyer was already awake with morning light when I descended the sweeping marble staircase, the soft echo of my polished shoes dissolving into the cavernous elegance of the estate. Sunlight spilled through the towering glass panels, striking the crystal chandelier overhead until prisms of gold scattered across the ivory walls. I adjusted the cuff of my charcoal suit as I walked, expression composed, posture immaculate—every inch the heir my father demanded I be. I was just reaching for my car keys resting on the onyx console when my mother’s voice cut through the stillness.
“Auren.”
I paused, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly before turning. My mother stood near the archway, draped in a silk morning robe the color of champagne, her hair styled despite the early hour. She looked less like a mother stopping her son and more like a queen intercepting a diplomat before departure.
“You are leaving before breakfast,” she said, studying me carefully. “I assumed you were in a hurry. But then I remembered… you were also absent last night.”
I exhaled slowly, already knowing where this was going. “Mother—”
“No,” she interrupted, gliding closer, her heels whispering against marble. “You will listen first.” Her gaze sharpened. “Do you have any idea what you did? The dinner at Veyra Estate was not a casual invitation. Richmond personally confirmed the alliance seating. Elara was present. Waiting.” She paused deliberately. “You did not come.”
My fingers flexed once at my side before stilling. “I’m aware I missed it.”
“Aware?” she repeated softly. “She asked for you, Auren. Repeatedly. She refused to come downstairs after a certain point. The staff noticed. Your father noticed. And do you know what embarrassment looks like on Richmond?” She gave a humorless smile. “It is not something one forgets.”
I walked past her toward the window, my gaze shifting briefly to the manicured gardens outside before I answered. “I had a negotiation that ran over schedule. International investors don’t appreciate being abandoned mid-deal for social theater.” I lied
“Do not reduce this to theater,” she said sharply, turning to face me fully. “This ‘theater’ secures dynasties.”
Silence stretched between us before I spoke again, voice lower but steady. “I sent my apologies.”
She blinked once. “Your apologies?”
“Yes.” I reached into my inner pocket, pulling out my phone as if to emphasize the point. “Nine paragraphs. Personally written. Not dictated. Not delegated.” My gaze lifted back to hers. “Delivered directly to Elara this morning.”
My mother studied me, searching my face for insincerity and finding none. “Nine paragraphs,” she repeated, slower this time. “And what exactly did these paragraphs contain? Business jargon? Strategic regret?”
A faint sigh escaped me. “They contained accountability,” I said. “An explanation of my absence. Acknowledgment of the disrespect it may have implied. Clarification that it was not intentional. And assurance that it will not repeat in a formal setting of that magnitude.” I paused, then added more quietly, “I also apologized for any personal embarrassment she endured on my behalf.”
Her expression softened only slightly, though concern still lingered beneath the polish. “And did she respond?”
My jaw ticked. “No.”
“Then your nine paragraphs did not soothe her humiliation,” she replied. “Because humiliation, Auren, is rarely logical. Especially not for a woman raised to expect devotion as much as diplomacy.”
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, composure never cracking though a flicker of fatigue crossed my eyes. “I cannot rewrite last night,” I said. “But I have acknowledged it. Thoroughly. More thoroughly than most men in my position would bother to.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “This is not about most men. This is about you… and the woman who may soon stand beside you in every public and private capacity.” Her gaze searched mine again. “You cannot afford distance where expectation already exists.”
I straightened my tie, the motion precise, controlled. “And she cannot afford to believe my world halts on command,” I replied evenly. “We are entering an alliance, not a fairy tale.”
My mother held my gaze for a long moment, measuring the steel beneath my calm. Then she exhaled, smoothing an invisible crease from my lapel.
“Just ensure your next appearance beside her is not accompanied by another apology essay.”
I allowed the faintest, restrained smile. “Understood.”
I turned back toward the doors, the foyer swallowing the sound of my departing steps—leaving behind the lingering weight of expectation, embarrassment… and nine paragraphs that had yet to be forgiven. My car was waiting before I even stepped outside.
Morning air greeted me—cooler than expected, laced with the faint scent of watered hedges and white roses from the eastern gardens. The estate’s circular driveway shimmered beneath the sun, every stone polished to a mirror sheen. My Aston Martin sat at the center like a panther at rest—obsidian black, lethal in its elegance. The driver rushed forward to open the door, but I lifted a hand slightly.
“I’ll take it.”
He stepped back instantly.
I slid into the driver’s seat, the leather cool and buttery beneath my palms as I gripped the wheel. The engine purred to life with restrained power—never loud, never crude. Like everything in my world, it didn’t need to announce its worth. I eased the car down the winding driveway, iron gates already parting in anticipation of my exit.
As the estate receded in the rearview mirror, my mind refused the quiet.
It returned—uninvited—to last night.
The flash of anger in her eyes. The heat of that slap. The audacity of it. My jaw tightened as I merged onto the main boulevard, sunlight flickering across the windshield. I had faced boardroom betrayals, hostile takeovers, men twice my age attempting to undermine me—and none of it lingered like the memory of a woman I didn’t even know daring to strike me.
Annoyance stirred… followed by something far more dangerous.
Intrigue.
I accelerated slightly, the city unfolding around me in polished morning rhythm—glass towers reflecting gold light, tailored pedestrians moving with purpose, luxury storefronts still yawning awake. Traffic parted easily, as though instinctively recognizing the caliber of car gliding through its lanes.
La Crème wasn’t far.
The café came into view at the corner of an upscale avenue—white stone exterior, gilded signage, floor-to-ceiling windows veiled in sheer drapery. Even from the street, I could see the soft glow of chandeliers inside and the curated arrangement of morning patrons—socialites, investors, old-money regulars who treated the place less like a café and more like an extension of their drawing rooms.
I pulled into the private valet lane, braking smoothly.
Before I even stepped out, the door was opened for me.
“Good morning, sir.”
I handed over the keys without breaking stride. “Keep it close.”
“Of course.”
Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly—warm espresso, fresh croissants, low piano instrumentals drifting through the air. Marble tables gleamed beneath delicate floral arrangements. Waitstaff moved in quiet choreography, trained to anticipate rather than react.
And then I spotted him.
Duglus sat exactly where I expected—corner table, back to the window, already halfway through an espresso and scrolling his phone like he owned the market. He looked up the moment I approached, grin spreading slowly, predatorially.
Well, well,” he drawled. “The prodigal heir returns from the land of the dead.”
I slid into the chair across from him, removing my sunglasses. “You talk too much this early.”
He studied my face, amusement sharpening. “Headache?”
“Yes.”
“From alcohol… or paternal summons?”
I gave him a look. He laughed immediately.
“So it’s true,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “Richmond actually sent Finn to drag you out.”
“Drag is a strong word.”
“Is it?” Duglus leaned forward eagerly. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked like you got recalled like company property.”
I took a slow sip of the coffee the server had placed before me.
“He said it was important.”
“And was it?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
He smirked. “Veyra Estate dinner.”
I didn’t answer—but I didn’t need to.
His brows shot up. “You left my club night… for an alliance dinner?”
“My father doesn’t consider it optional.”
Duglus whistled low. “That explains the mood shift. One minute you’re ignoring models, next minute you’re gone.”