Max stared at the condensation sliding down his untouched glass of seltzer.
Behind him, the party had recovered. Laughter returning in uneven waves, like a song that kept skipping on the same note. Someone clinked a fork against a plastic champagne flute, and another cheer went up, a little too loud, a little too forced. The air smelled like frosting and office carpet cleaner.
He could hear Althea's voice somewhere across the room, soft and polite, threading through the chatter. He didn't look. If he looked, he'd see her smile at someone else. He'd see Adrian standing too close. And tonight, he wasn't sure he could take that.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to loosen.
Earlier that evening had started almost light. Max had retreated to the edge of the room, giving himself the illusion of control. Althea had floated nearby, exchanging small smiles with a few of his colleagues, who were clearly fascinated by her.
It would've been easier if she'd looked bored. Detached. But no, she had that gentle grace that drew people in without trying. Even when she wasn't speaking, people seemed to orbit her like moths to a quiet flame.
At one point, an older manager leaned over to her. "You must be so proud of him."
Althea glanced across the room where Max was trapped in a cluster of congratulations, his hand stuffed in his pocket, pretending to be more comfortable than he was. She smiled softly. "…I am."
Max had caught that. Of course he had. And for a brief, dizzy moment, he'd felt warm all the way through. He hated how quickly that warmth was eclipsed the second Adrian walked over to say something casual and make her laugh.
The longer Max stayed at the party, the more the air seemed to thicken.
People whispered. He couldn't tell if it was about the awkward brother reunion or the scene with the punch bowl, but he felt the weight of it anyway.
He tried to focus on the surface of the seltzer in his cup, the way the bubbles rose and popped. It was grounding, in a way. It kept him from looking at the real problem.
Until someone laughed too loud behind him.
"Come on, Max! One photo! You three look like a magazine spread—'The Velasco Legacy.'"
He didn't turn. "No photos."
"Oh, don't be like that—"
"I said no."
His voice cut through the room sharper than he'd intended. A few conversations faltered. A manager coughed into their drink. Even the Bluetooth speaker hiccupped in the pause.
Althea stepped forward instinctively. "Max…"
He finally looked up, and the sight hit him like a quiet punch. She wasn't angry. She wasn't even confused. She just looked… worried. Soft. That soft look that had burned in his chest all night; and none of it was for him.
Something in him snapped.
"Don't—" His voice came out harsher than he meant. "Don't look at me like that."
Her brows knit. "Like what?"
"Like I'm—" He stopped, swallowing the rest. Like I'm the one who needs your pity.
Adrian stepped closer, hands up slightly. "Max, let's take a breath—"
"You." Max's eyes flicked to his brother, cold. "You just walk in here and suddenly the whole room forgets who they're here for. Like always."
Adrian's smile faltered. "Max, I didn't—"
"And you—" Max's voice cracked as he turned to Althea, softer but still raw. "You forgive him. Just like that. Of course you do."
Althea froze, lips parting, stunned into silence. He exhaled sharply, like the words had clawed their way out of him against his better judgment. "I need air."
This wasn't about her. It wasn't about Adrian, or who she might still care for. It was about him, always about him fading into the background, like he was never meant to be more than a shadow cast by his brother's light.
And without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of the party.
The night air outside was cool, a stark contrast to the warm, suffocating room. Max's footsteps echoed on the pavement as he crossed the small parking lot, hands buried in his pockets. He didn't have a plan. He just needed space.
For a while, he walked aimlessly, past the trimmed hedges and decorative lights, the corporate campus looking sterile under the moonlight. His reflection caught in a dark window, suit sharp, shoulders tense, face drawn tight.
He looked like his father. That thought made him stop in his tracks.
No. Not him.
He wasn't going to be the man who swallowed jealousy and spat it out as cruelty. He wasn't going to be the man who let resentment rot him from the inside out. But right now, in the cold air, it was hard to tell if he was any better.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath.
He'd told himself this was just a game. A temporary arrangement. A placeholder life.
But somewhere between folded laundry and shared dinners and the quiet moments when she smiled without knowing he was watching, he'd started to want things he had no right to want.
And tonight, in front of everyone, he'd felt the truth hit him like a silent blow...
End of Chapter 45.