The Velasco boardroom was quieter than usual, but it wasn't the kind of quiet born from peace. It was the suffocating silence of a room waiting for a storm to hit.
Alaya Serrano, no, Alaya Velasco now, thanks to the ink on their marriage contract, sat with a posture that would have made a diplomat jealous. She was composed, her back straight, her hands neatly clasped on the table in front of her.
Across from her sat Adrian's father, Mariano Velasco, silver hair sharp as steel, his tailored suit cut with the precision of a blade. Beside him, Adrian leaned back in his chair, trying for casual but coming off tense.
The meeting had been a polite but barbed exchange of numbers, projections, and legal constraints until Mariano's voice cut through like the crack of a whip.
"You Serranos," he said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his tone, "are opportunists. Always have been. Your father clawed his way into the market by stealing scraps from bigger tables. You've simply learned to package it in a prettier box."
Alaya's fingers curled slightly against the folder. She kept her expression smooth, lips pressed into a faint, neutral curve.
Mariano didn't stop. "You're clever, yes. I'll give you that. Pretty face, good education; you play the part well. But cleverness is not substance. And in this family, Mrs. Velasco, substance matters more than a show."
The air thinned. Even the ticking of the wall clock seemed louder. Adrian shifted in his chair. His mouth opened slightly, and then closed again. He didn't speak.
Alaya turned her gaze toward him for a fraction of a second. He was looking at the table, his jaw tight but unmoving.
Her chest tightened. Mariano gathered the papers before him, stacking them with meticulous precision. "Your marriage may have been… strategic," he said, "but I expect loyalty to this family's interests. And I expect you to remember where you stand, Mrs. Velasco. You're in my house now."
The words landed like stones dropped into still water. Alaya didn't give him the satisfaction of a flinch. She met his eyes steadily, the way one might look at a storm through a closed window, knowing it could shatter the glass, but refusing to step back.
"Of course," she said softly, but there was a thread of steel in her tone. "I'm sure the Velasco empire will stand strong, with or without my presence at your table. But... Empires can fall faster than they rise, and sometimes all it takes is one well-placed truth."
Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, not quite a warning. And then she inclined her head, stepping back with the same composure she had walked in with. She didn't look at Adrian. That hurt was too raw, and she wasn't ready to let him see it.
Later, when the boardroom was empty, Alaya found Adrian in the hallway outside. The soft click of her heels was the only sound for a moment. Adrian exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "He didn't mean—"
Her eyes snapped to him, sharp enough to make him stop mid-sentence.
"He didn't mean?" Her voice was quiet, steady, dangerous in its restraint. "Adrian, he insulted my father. My family. Me."
"I know," Adrian said quickly, but his tone was defensive, not apologetic. "It's just… he's my father. Picking a fight in there wouldn't have helped—"
"It would have told me," she interrupted, "that you see me as more than just a convenient alliance."
Adrian's jaw worked soundlessly.
"You didn't have to win an argument," she said, her words measured, "but you could have stood beside me. You could have told him that I am not here on sufferance, that I am your wife. That I belong."
Her voice wavered just slightly on that last word.
He noticed.
The hurt in her eyes wasn't sharp like it usually was when they clashed. It was something quieter, heavier. Something that made Adrian feel like the floor had tilted under him.
For the first time since their wedding, Alaya Serrano didn't look angry with him. She looked… tired.
"Alaya—" he started.
She shook her head once. "Forget it."
He reached for her arm, but she stepped back, the distance between them suddenly more than just a few feet. She left the room without another word, her heels clicking in an even rhythm that didn't falter until the sound faded completely.
The rain had started in the afternoon, soft and steady against the windows of Althea's office. She was still at her desk long after most of the staff had gone home, the overhead lights dimmed to a warm glow.
Papers lay scattered across the polished surface, marked up with red notes from the Velasco legal department. Her pen tapped idly against one of them as she scrolled through her phone for the third time in ten minutes.
Few memes from Max. Althea smiled to herself. She'd barely settled into her chair when a knock sounded against the open doorway.
She looked up. Alaya stood there. Her posture was careful, as though she wasn't sure if she was welcome.
"Hi…" she said, her voice a little hesitant.
The word hung in the air, carrying with it an entire weight of something unspoken.
End of Chapter 48.