The office was quieter than she remembered. Her heels clicked along the marble, each step echoing too loudly in her ears. She moved like someone trying not to be watched and failing. The stares weren't rude, just... careful. Measured. There was something about the way the interns whispered in her wake, how even the boardroom glass seemed more transparent than before.
Her desk hadn't moved. Neither had her mug with the cracked handle, or the small plant Max had mockingly gifted her weeks ago saying, "This one's dramatic like you. It droops if ignored."
It was still alive. Barely. She set her bag down and stared at her reflection in the computer screen. The woman who stared back wore lipstick and purpose. But her eyes… her eyes flickered.
She should've felt proud. She should have. Wasn't this what she wanted? Recognition. Impact. Authority. And yet, what gnawed at her ribs like hunger wasn't pride. It was grief. This wasn't her reputation they respected. It was her ring. Her last name. Her father's legacy, her husband's family's name. The work she'd done before, late nights and solo pitches and crisis cleanups, none of that had gotten this attention.
It took marrying into the Velasco name for people to finally listen.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown Number. She almost let it go to voicemail, until instinct nudged her. She picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Althea?" A woman's voice. Smooth, polite. A bit clipped.
"Yes?"
"It's Max's mother."
Althea stood. Her hand gripped the phone tighter. "Oh. Hello, ma'am."
"I hope I'm not disturbing your work. I… was wondering if you had time for tea. At the house."
The house. That house.
Althea's pulse ticked. "Of course. I'll be there shortly."
Althea had faced client presentations, an engagement scandal, and a failed elopement plan. But nothing made her palms sweat quite like being summoned by Max's mother. The Velasco estate sat like a quiet museum. Elegant, expensive, and full of memories that weren't hers.
She was greeted by staff and ushered into a sunlit sitting room with floral upholstery and porcelain too delicate to touch.
Max's mother sat gracefully by the tea table, dressed in a soft blue silk dress. Her silver earrings caught the sunlight. She was beautiful. Regal, but not cold. Her eyes were warm but tired.
"I'm glad you came," she said. "Please, sit."
Althea sat, clutching her purse like a life jacket.
"I hope you don't mind chamomile," the woman added. "It's the only tea I drink when I'm worried. Which, these days, is often."
Althea's lips twitched. "Anything is okay for me, ma'am."
There was a pause, then Max's mother spoke gently. "I called you because… I wanted you to hear this from me. Max's father is digging into you."
Althea's brows lifted slightly.
"He's ordered private investigators. Looking into your past. Your financials. Even your old college professors."
Althea exhaled slowly. "I know."
The woman blinked. "You do?" Althea stared at her tea. "I thought Max was part of it. That maybe he was… watching me too."
The older woman's face softened with something close to sadness. "You think Max would ever hurt you?"
"I don't know what to think," Althea whispered.
There was a long pause. Then Max's mother looked away. "I haven't spoken to him since the day you got married."
Althea looked up.
"I tried calling. Tried texting. After he moved out. After he married you. But he won't pick up." Her voice cracked slightly, and she pressed her lips together.
"I didn't know," Althea said, quietly.
"I understand," the woman said with a sad smile. "He's protecting you. From us. From this house. From his father's reach. You probably think Max is messy and dramatic and impossible."
"I do."
"But he's also… loyal. Fiercely so. He may pretend to laugh everything off, but he bleeds deeply. And if he's being distant from you…" She added and looked at Althea. "It's because he's afraid you'll bleed too."
Something inside Althea crumbled a little. She set down her tea carefully. "I'm sorry," she said.
The woman smiled faintly. "Don't be. Just… take care of him. And of yourself. If I'm being honest…" She paused, her eyes misty."I always wanted a daughter."
Althea blinked.
"I used to dream about a girl, someone to teach how to braid hair, someone to pass on my jewelries to. Someone who'd sit with me like this, not out of duty, but out of understanding."
Althea's throat tightened.
"I never had a real mother," she said suddenly. "Not the way people describe. I had an image. An absence. A schedule. But no warmth. No hair-braiding. No tea."
The two women looked at each other for a long, silent moment. Something passed between them, soft, invisible, but real.
The sound of the door slamming open shattered the peace. Max barreled in, hair a mess, shirt untucked, tie hanging like a noose, eyes wild.
End of Chapter 37.