The morning started with Althea yelling at the coffee machine. "No. No, you overgrown kettle, I said espresso. ESPRESSO."
From the kitchen doorway, Max watched, sipping from his own cup. Tea civilized and quiet. "You know yelling at it won't make it fear you, right?"
Max asked, hair messy, wearing a white shirt half-buttoned and a pair of black joggers that looked entirely too expensive to be that soft. "I'm trying to assert dominance. It's not going well." She spoke.
"It's not a rebellious teenager."
She pointed at it accusingly. "You don't know what it's seen."
Max smirked and walked away, Lilith trailing behind him like royalty. Althea sighed and returned to the machine, which obediently gave her espresso now, as if it had been toying with her on purpose.
By the time he joined her on the sofa, she was scrolling through something on her tablet, hair still wet from the shower and feet tucked beneath her. Max settled beside her, not too close.
"Your espresso looks smug," he said, sipping his tea.
"It should. It's functional."
"Traitor." They sat in silence for a few beats before Max finally exhaled and said, "You know, I had a dream last night."
"Hmm?"
"I was in a board meeting, but everyone was me. Like, twelve versions of me yelling at each other about profit margins. One of them cried." Althea raised an eyebrow. "Sounds healthy."
"Right? I woke up and had a minor existential crisis." Max looked into his mug, suddenly more interested in the swirl of dark liquid than her eyes. "You okay?" she asked lightly, but the question lingered longer than it should have.
Max hesitated. "Of course, I am."
Althea shrugged. "I wouldn't be so sure if I was you."
"I'm not sure either."
She turned to look at him, surprised. "Why?" He stayed silent. Althea studied him.
Max was unraveling in silence. And Althea saw it. It wasn't in anything loud or obvious. He didn't complain, didn't sigh dramatically or storm out of rooms. He carried his burdens quietly, like a man used to weight. Like someone who had been taught early on that softness was a luxury and that pain, when dressed properly, could pass for composure.
But she could tell. She noticed the faint stiffness in his shoulders, the pause before his fake grin, the way his eyes drifted too long over the skyline at night.
Maximilian Velasco, who once walked like the whole world bent to greet him. Untouchable, raised on velvet and old money, a name too heavy for most people to say without reverence. And now? Now his family bank accounts were locked. His father treated him like a stranger. He was half-exiled, half-pinned to a marriage that wasn't even built on love.
"Why don't you let it show?" she asked.
He looked at her, something soft flickering across his features. "Because if I do, I'm afraid it'll all spill out. And if it spills, I don't know if I can gather it back."
A silence fell between them again, but this one was quieter, less awkward. Like they were both treading the same emotional thread.
Max glanced sideways at her. "I envy you sometimes."
Althea blinked. "Me?"
"You walk around here like you own the silence. Like you're not scared of it."
"That's because I've lived in it most of my life."
"Still. You've got this… calm. Even when you're angry, it's like this storm behind glass. Contained. Controlled."
Althea snorted. "That's trauma, Max. It's not a superpower."
"Still looks cool," he said, grinning faintly.
She gave him a look, but she didn't deny it. Instead, she leaned back. Max went quiet again. Then he said, "You know, I had to prove every day that I was worth the Velasco name. And now that I've stepped out of line, he's pulling the rug to remind me who built the floor." Althea nodded slowly. Althea felt something twist in her chest. She recognized the feeling, recognition.
Althea just sat there, her eyes on him, her hands clenched tightly in her lap beneath the table. She wanted to say something. A word, maybe, or even a gesture that meant something. But her mouth stayed closed, and the silence dragged on, louder than anything she could've managed. The weight between them growing heavier but not unbearable. In fact, it almost felt… steadying.
"I used to think being vulnerable made me weak," Max said.
"It doesn't. It makes you human."
She hated it how useless it made her feel. Not because she didn't care, but because she cared that it overwhelmed her. Her silence wasn't indifference, it was paralysis.
"I'm sorry." Althea muttered.
Max blinked. "What?"
The moment someone needed her, not for advice or sarcasm, not for judgment or strength. But just for presence, for softness, for warmth; she didn't know what to do. All the strength she was so proud of turned to glass in her chest. She wanted to reach for him, but her fingers refused to move. She wanted to ask if he was genuinely okay, but her voice didn't trust itself.
She hated it. Because she knew this was her fault. He was only in this mess because of her. And not once had he said it out loud. That was the part that destroyed her. His silence. He didn't throw it in her face, didn't use it to manipulate her or guilt her. He didn't say, "I gave it all up for you." But he had. She knew it. She felt it in every heavy-lidded stare, in the exhaustion he tried to hide, in the way he never let her see how tired he really was.
And she blamed herself. Because what other reason did he have? He didn't love her. He couldn't. How could he?
She wasn't the kind of woman men gave up empires for. She wasn't the kind of woman to be loved like that, not after everything. Max had thrown himself into this mess not out of love, but because he couldn't bear to watch her get destroyed. He stepped in to shield her, to carry her away from a wedding that was a lie. And now he was the one paying for it.
The hero in a story that didn't even give him a happy ending.
Althea felt the guilt like a chain around her throat. Every time she looked at him. And she hadn't even said thank you.
She couldn't tell him to stop. She couldn't ask him to let go.
Althea felt tears gushing to her eyes. She hid it so Max doesn't notice. Max sipped his tea as if he had no expectation from her to comfort him or say something either. That made her chest ache.
Max stood up and went to his room. She stayed quiet. Stared at her hands. And hoped Max would hear all the things she couldn't say.
End of Chapter 31.