Chapter 146
Grace's POV
Within minutes, Alex had drifted back to sleep in my arms, his breathing deep and even. I should have been exhausted too, but my mind buzzed with plans and possibilities. A real wedding. A future we'd build together, not one built on lies and deception.
I studied his sleeping face. Even in rest, there was something guarded about him, as if he carried secrets even into his dreams.
The thought had barely formed when Alex stirred, his brow furrowing.
"Violet..." he whispered, so quietly I almost missed it. "Don't..."
My entire body went rigid. The words hit me like ice water, freezing the warmth I'd felt moments before. I stared at his peaceful expression, hoping I'd misheard, but that name echoed in my mind with crystal clarity.
Violet.
---
Next morning.
"Grace? Grace!"
Julie's voice cut through my fog of concentration. I blinked, realizing I'd been staring at the same line of financial data for the past ten minutes, my pen gripped so tightly my knuckles had gone white.
"Sorry, what?" I looked up to find Julie standing in my office doorway, concern etched across her features.
"I've been knocking for five minutes. Are you okay?" She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "You look like you haven't slept."
I forced a smile, setting down my pen. "Just thinking through some important decisions."
It wasn't entirely a lie. I'd spent the morning trying to convince myself I'd imagined Alex's words, but they kept replaying in my head with devastating clarity.
"I need you to contact Oliver Davidson," I said, grateful for the distraction of work. "Set up a meeting about potential collaboration opportunities."
Julie nodded, making notes on her tablet. "Anything specific you want me to mention?"
"Just that Wilson Holdings is interested in exploring partnerships with innovative tech companies." I turned back to my computer, hoping she'd take the hint.
After Julie left, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. The rational part of my brain insisted I was overreacting. People said all sorts of things in their sleep. It didn't necessarily mean anything.
---
Afternoon - Conference Room
Oliver Davidson arrived precisely on time, his expression cautious but interested. I'd done my research on his new company—cutting-edge patent technology but severely undercapitalized. He needed this partnership.
"Ms. Wilson," he said, settling into the chair across from me. "I have to admit, your invitation surprised me."
"Innovation deserves support," I replied, sliding a folder across the table. "Your patents show real promise. Wilson Holdings is prepared to offer significant investment in exchange for technology licensing agreements."
Oliver's eyes widened as he scanned the documents. "This is... generous. May I ask what prompted your interest?"
I thought of Sophia's private request yesterday, asking me to help Oliver without revealing her involvement. She'd been careful not to make it seem like charity, emphasizing his genuine talent and potential.
"I believe in backing winners," I said simply. "The question is: are you ready to prove yourself? Or are you too afraid to even try?"
Something shifted in Oliver's expression—surprise giving way to determination. "I'm not afraid of hard work, Ms. Wilson."
"Good. Because this isn't just about money. It's about building something that lasts." I leaned forward. "Your technology could revolutionize the industry. But potential means nothing without execution."
Oliver straightened in his chair. "When do we start?"
---
Richard's POV
I sat in my car, facing another dead end, frustration burning in my chest. Grace had cut off all contact with me.
Laura had vanished too, dodging my calls about the divorce papers. Part of me felt guilty about the relief that brought. Our relationship had become a weight I could barely carry, especially with Grace's image haunting every quiet moment.
But Grace... Grace was different. She'd always been different, and I'd been too blind to see it.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling through old contacts. University friends, former colleagues, anyone who might have stayed in touch with her. But as I made call after call, a disturbing pattern emerged.
None of them really knew Grace. They remembered her, sure—the quiet girl who'd dated Richard Harrison, the one who'd helped with study groups and never caused drama. But personal connections? Real friendships? Nothing.
It hit me like a physical blow: those people had been my friends, not hers. Grace had existed on the periphery of my social circle, accommodating and helpful but never truly belonging. I'd thought I knew her, but I'd only seen what I'd wanted to see.
The phone buzzed against my desk, Stella's name flashing on the screen. I stared at it for a moment before hitting decline.
Not today.
I could already picture her righteous indignation, probably calling to lecture me about Laura's divorce papers or some moral failing she'd invented. Stella had always appointed herself as the mediator in our marriage disputes, swooping in with her sanctimonious advice whenever Laura and I hit rough patches.
The woman had a talent for making me feel like a complete bastard with just a few well-chosen words.
When the phone stayed silent, I exhaled in relief. At least she wasn't persistent today.
A notification chimed from my laptop - the alumni group. Probably another networking event I'd have to politely decline. I'd systematically left most of these groups over the years, keeping only two investment-focused ones that occasionally proved useful.
My cursor hovered over the close button when a private message popped up.
"Richard! Hope you're doing well. Just wanted to invite you and Grace to celebrate - Sarah and I just got married in Aetheria! Attaching some photos from the ceremony."
I clicked on the images, recognizing my old dorm neighbor from across the hall. The wedding looked elegant, intimate. His bride was radiant in white lace.
Another message followed: "Funny story - Grace actually introduced us! Sarah was her friend. We both ended up in Aetheria after graduation, bumped into each other at the same tech company, and the rest is history."
Some connections are blessings, I thought bitterly. Others are just... complicated.
They were working on the West Coast now, blissfully unaware of the wreckage my own marriage had become. Lucky them.
When he replied with an enthusiastic invitation to their celebration dinner, I found myself deleting my polite refusal. Instead, I typed: "Sounds great. Send me the address."
Maybe Grace's old friends could be useful. Maybe they could provide a bridge back to her.