Chapter 83: Unalert, unalarmed and uninformed.
On her way to see Duncan, Aria's mind was everywhere and nowhere all at once. The late afternoon sun filtered gently through her car windows, casting streaks of gold on her skin as she drove. Her fingers tapped absentmindedly against the steering wheel, keeping time with the music in her ears. She had her earpods in, the song playing something soft, something familiar-the kind that made memories feel a little too close.
It had been two years now. Two whole years since Duncan had quietly slipped into her life and stayed there like he belonged. Their friendship had grown naturally, effortlessly. He had become that one person she could always count on. But even though he never said it out loud, she knew. She could feel it-the way his eyes lingered a second longer than necessary, the way he laughed a little too hard at her jokes, and the way he made sure she never needed any other male company.
Duncan had a way of making himself the only one who mattered.
And she let him.
He wasn't pushy, not exactly. But he was always there. Helping. Checking in. Protecting. Sometimes guiding her away from people he didn't trust-especially guys. She used to joke about it. He'd just smile and shrug it off. But deep down, she knew what it was. He didn't want to share her, not yet. Maybe not ever.
And lately... she didn't want to be shared either.
She wasn't sure when the shift happened. When his voice started sounding warmer in her ears. When his touch-innocent, barely lingering-started staying with her long after he was gone. When she began replaying the things he said like they meant more than just words between friends.
Maybe it had been there all along, quietly growing, waiting.
Aria smiled faintly as she imagined seeing him. He didn't know it yet, but he'd started taking up space in her heart, slowly, completely. And while she still called it friendship, deep inside, she knew it was something more. She was just waiting-for the right time, the right moment.
Let time speak, she told herself.
But as her car moved steadily forward, her mind so tangled in thoughts of Duncan, she didn't know what was happening just a few miles ahead.
Her mother-her strong, graceful mother-was on the ground, surrounded by a small crowd. Her face pale, her body trembling, eyes wide with terror as if she had seen something no one else could understand. People rushed about, murmuring, trying to help, but she was frozen. Stuck in that moment of fear.
And Aria, unaware, drove on. Her heart light, her thoughts full of Duncan.
She had no idea that her world was about to shift.
♡♡♡♡
Joan and Grandmother Lydia were the only ones left at home. Grandfather had traveled on a business trip with his first and second sons, leaving the house unusually quiet.
Joan was tidying up the living room-picking up after the chaos little Jeda had left behind. The toddler had just finished turning the sitting area into her personal playground, and now, cranky from all the activity, she burst into tears as Joan gently set her down. Joan had just received a call. She quickly reached for her phone.
It was Maxson.
"Baby, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice already tense. "You sound... off. Is everything okay?"
There was a pause. Then came his reply, heavy and urgent.
"Joan
, wherever you are, just make sure you're safe. It's... it's my mother."
At those words-it's my mother-Joan felt her heart twist painfully in her chest. She froze. Her mind raced. No. Not now. Not here. Grandmother must not find out... The weight of the situation hit her harder than she expected, and her body betrayed her. She trembled-visibly.
Grandmother Lydia noticed immediately. She was never one to miss the shift in a person's energy.
"Joan," she called softly, eyes narrowing, "what happened?"
Joan swallowed, forcing a small smile, even though her insides were unraveling.
"I'm fine, Grandmother," she said quickly. "It's nothing. I'll be right back. Please, could you watch Jeda for a few minutes?"
Grandmother Lydia didn't press. Not yet. But the suspicion in her eyes lingered as Joan turned and left the room.
Once inside her bedroom, Joan shut the door gently behind her, took a deep breath, and put the phone back to her ear.
"Maxson, listen to me," she said, her tone soft but firm. "You need to stay calm. Everything is going to be fine, okay? Your mother will be fine. I promise you. I'll handle things here. Grandmother doesn't know, and I won't let her find out-not unless we have no other choice."
On the other end of the line, Maxson's breathing slowed. Her voice, steady and full of assurance, always had that effect on him.
"Okay... alright," he finally said, calmer now. "Thank you, my love. I'll get back as soon as I can."
Joan sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, phone still in her hand. Her thoughts were already racing ahead-how to protect Maxson's mother, how to shield the truth from Grandmother Lydia, how to keep everything from spiraling too fast.
She closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her lips together.
She would handle it.
She always did.
---
Joan wasn't the same girl she used to be.
After the call with Maxson ended, she didn't move right away. She remained in the same spot, one hand still loosely gripping her phone, the other resting softly on her lap. Her gaze was steady but distant-like she was tracing memories across the wall.
Her mind drifted. Not out of confusion or panic-but out of deep reflection. Joan had been through fire, and she had walked through it without flinching. She was no longer just Joan from a quiet family; she was now Joan Silver, wife of Maxson Silver, part of a dynasty feared and revered in equal measure.
She wore her transformation like an heirloom. Not flashy. Not loud. But visible. Palpable.
Gone were the soft cotton dresses and hesitant smiles. Now, everything about her was sculpted, sharp, purposeful. Her dark hair was pinned in a low chignon that whispered elegance. Her clothes-simple but expensive-hugged her frame with precision, never excessive, always tailored. She looked like a woman who could walk into a room full of armed men and make them lower their weapons with just a glance.
But her power didn't just sit on her skin. It was in her manner.
Joan didn't talk much anymore-she had learned that in this new world, silence was its own kind of authority.
Joan had learned quickly after marrying into the Silver family that money didn't protect you from the dark. In fact, it often invited it. She had stood in the shadows of things she would never tell her grandfather about. She had been in rooms where decisions were made with a nod-decisions that altered lives, ended them even. And she didn't flinch.
But through it all, she hadn't lost herself.
She was still the girl who loved tea at sunset. Still the woman who kissed her daughter, Jeda, softly on the forehead each morning. Still the calm voice Maxson needed when the world became too loud. But now, she was also something more.
A strategist. A protector. A queen in her own right.
People mistook her quiet nature for softness, until they saw what she did when cornered. Joan didn't raise her voice. She didn't curse. She didn't throw things. She simply acted. With lethal calm. With terrifying clarity.
And when she spoke, people listened-not just because she was beautiful or rich, but because her words carried weight.
Her personality was a quiet storm. Controlled. Dangerous. Sophisticated.
In private, Maxson often called her Il Leone Silenzioso-The Silent Lion. Because she didn't roar. She watched. She learned. She struck only when it mattered.
And now, standing there after the call, in the quiet of her room, Joan wasn't panicking.
She was calculating.
Whatever was going on with Maxson's mother, whatever the threat was-it wouldn't break her. She would protect her family, uphold her husband's honor, and make sure Grandmother Lydia stayed blissfully unaware-at least for now.
This was her life now.
Not just as Joan Dyce.
But as Joan Silver-the woman who had learned to walk through shadows in heels, and turn whispers into commands.
♡♡♡♡
Charlotte sat on the bare highway floor, her dress stained with dust, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if holding her body together would stop her from falling apart completely. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy-haunted. Around her, a crowd had gathered-curious, whispering, pointing, some irritated, others worried. But none of them dared go close enough.
A little further down the road, a car had just skidded to a halt. The tires screeched as Maxson jumped out, his heart pounding, Scott not far behind him. The moment Maxson stepped out, his eyes scanned the chaos, and then landed on a man walking past.
"Please!" Maxson grabbed the man by the shoulder. "What happened here? Who were the victims? Did you see them?"
The man looked startled, annoyed even, but answered, "I think it was a family-maybe four, six people. Why are you asking-?"
"Did you see a woman?" Maxson cut in, desperate. "She's in her fifties. Light brown skin, hair tied back, wearing a blue..."
But before he could finish, the man raised a brow and pointed lazily toward the crowd.
"You mean that woman sitting on the road?" he asked. "She's the one blocking traffic. Been there the whole time, like a statue. Nobody can get her to move."
Maxson froze. He turned to look.
Scott followed his gaze.
There she was.
Their mother.
On the ground.
Alone. Fragile. Drowning in silence, her world clearly shattered.
Maxson felt something twist in his chest as his legs moved before his mind could catch up. Both brothers dashed toward the crowd.
"Someone tell that woman to get her car off the road!" the man shouted behind them, frustrated. "She's the problem! That's the whole damn holdup!"
Scott halted for a moment and turned back to the man, his face stone-cold. His eyes said it all: Watch your mouth. The man went quiet instantly.
The crowd, sensing something deeper at play, parted respectfully as the two brothers pushed through.
Maxson was the first to reach her. He dropped to his knees beside her, his voice low but urgent.
"Mama..."
She didn't speak. Didn't move.
Just stared ahead as though she hadn't heard him. As though the world was too loud and too quiet all at once.
Scott crouched beside them, placing a hand gently on her back.
"It's okay. We're here now. Let's get you out of here."
With care, they lifted her to her feet, her body limp, her weight sagging against Maxson. She didn't protest.
Scott guided her to his car without a word. Maxson nodded and turned toward her vehicle, slipping into the driver's seat.
Within seconds, both engines roared to life, and the two cars peeled off the highway, the scene behind them swallowed up by the crowd and sirens.
They didn't say a word as they drove, but their destination was the same: Scott's Mansion.
And in both cars, one question hung heavy in the air.
What had happened to make their mother fall apart like that?
♡♡♡♡
Flora walked into her office with the quiet elegance that came from years of discipline, success, and knowing exactly who she was. The door closed softly behind her, sealing her off from the noise and intensity of the meeting she'd just led. It had gone well-better than expected, actually-but she was tired. The kind of tired that didn't just sit in your bones, but settled behind your eyes, in the middle of your chest.
She dropped her folder gently on the table, peeled off her blazer, and lowered herself into the soft leather of her office chair. A low sigh escaped her lips as she leaned back, grateful for the few moments of stillness.
Her phone buzzed against the glass top of her desk. She reached for it without looking, assuming it was a call.
But it wasn't. Just a message. From one of her team members.
"Boss lady, you owned the room. Drinks on me after work?"
She gave a faint smile, half amused, half too drained to think about anything outside the moment. She didn't respond. She let her head rest against the back of the chair and closed her eyes for a second. Just one minute to breathe.
The phone buzzed again.
She glanced at it-and this time her heart fluttered. It was a message from Scott.
Her husband.
A soft smile touched her lips. She loved unexpected messages from him. They always made her day feel lighter, warmer. Without hesitating, she tapped the message open.
And froze.
Her face went blank, the color draining from her cheeks in a heartbeat.
The room suddenly felt cold. Her fingers trembled just slightly around the phone.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
Then sat upright, her back now stiff.
Her chest tightened, and without realizing it, she let out a quiet gasp-barely a sound, but it was sharp, like a needle to the lungs.
"...Ah."
It was all she could say.
Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, reading the message again and again, hoping maybe she had misread it. But no, the words were the same. The tone of Scott's message-it wasn't his usual. It was clipped, urgent. There was something in it that sent her heart spiraling.
Fear.
Real, bone-deep fear.
And just like that, the calm of the afternoon shattered.
The quiet room felt like it was closing in.
She stood up slowly, her mind racing.