"Didn't think you'd come, Pa," Thea said with a soft smile, her eyes on the horizon.
Mr. Alfred chuckled as he approached. "When you ask for cookies and conversation, miss, I'm legally bound. It's tradition."
The Carrington garden had always been her sanctuary. Not for its roses or perfect hedges but because it still felt… human. It reminded her of her mother.
Alfred sat beside her on the wooden bench, moving with the slow grace of someone who had seen too much life to rush through it. His silver cane rested at his side. His vest was buttoned to perfection. His hair, parted with quiet care.
Thea held a small tin in her hands. The Carrington's crest on it had faded with time, dulled by years of use.
"Your almond ones," she said, handing him one like a childhood offering.
"My finest sin," he smiled, accepting it with a small bow of gratitude.
He took a bite, crumbs softening the sharp lines of his face.
"I heard," he said after a moment.
Thea's fingers tightened around the tin. "You did?"
"News travels around here like disease, child. I breathe it in whether I want to or not. "
She let out a nervous laugh.
Silence followed, gentle and full. The garden hummed with life, the distant chirp of a bird, the rustle of leaves.
Then she asked, her voice small, "Pa, what do I do?"
Alfred turned to her. His eyes, lined with age and loyalty, were kind. He had been here long before her birth, before her father's empire hardened. He'd raised children in the cracks of a house built on control.
"He's asking you to prove yourself?"
She nodded. "Six months. No Carrington funds, no favours. We have to build something real. Report to his office monthly. At the end, one of us gets a seat at the board."
"And the other?" he asked gently, though he already knew.
"Cut off. Entirely."
He sighed slow and deep taking another bite of his cookie. "He told you this like it was a business deal, didn't he?"
"You know him."
"I do," he said . "Your father build things. He just doesn't know how to raise hearts."
Thea blinked, caught off guard.
He smiled faintly. "Loyalty doesn't mean blindness. You were always your mother's child. Gentle. Observant. That man, he's all marble and steel. And your sister? She's his reflection."
"I'm not like them," she whispered. "Sometimes I feel like I don't even belong in that house."
Alfred studied her. "Then make a place that feels like yours. This challenge isn't about wealth or legacy. It's about who you become when no one's looking."
Her gaze drifted to a patch of violets by the hedge, her mother's favourite. She remembered her laughter as she spun her in circles, the scent of rose water, the sun that day.
"I spent years being quiet," she said. "Thinking peace meant hiding."
"And has it?"
She shook her head. "No. I've only felt… invisible."
He placed a hand over hers, warm and steady. "You have your mother's eyes. They see what others miss. But it's time the world saw through them."
She hesitated. "I don't even know where to begin."
"Begin where you are. What do you love?"
"Books. Strategy. Patterns. Fixing things that don't make sense."
A touch of pride flickered across his face. "And what don't you love?"
"Pretending. Power plays."
"Then you're already know the difference between success and noise," he said gently. "Your sister, will chase lights. You'll build roots."
She glanced at the cookie tin. "Do you think I can really do it?"
"I've seen you carry grief that would've shattered most and still chose kindness. If that isn't strength, Miss Thea, I don't know what is."
The light began to fade behind the hedges. The air turned cooler. Alfred cleared his throat.
"I have a friend," he said. "A company looking for help. PR management. They need someone steady, to manage a scandal."
"What company?"
"Arkos Biotech Pharmaceuticals."
She frowned. "The one accused of covering up child cancer cases?"
He nodded. "The same."
Thea laughed quietly. "Dad called that scandal justice. Said he wish he had done it himself."
They shared a small, knowing smile.
"Do you think I can manage something like that?"
"You're Theadora Carrington," he said, offering her another cookie. "You can manage anything."
She took it, smiling faintly.
"And when you feel lost, come back here," he added. "We'll have cookies. I'll remind you who you are."
She looked at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're more my father than he'll ever be."
Alfred's expression softened, but he didn't smile. His gaze drifted somewhere far away.
"I know. But he gave you his name. Make it mean something new."
They sat in silence as the garden dimmed around them.
For the first time in years, Thea Carrington didn't feel small inside her name.
She felt ready.
*****
The office was still except for the soft shuffle of papers and the faint click of a pen.
Jace Davis preferred silence. It helped him think and thinking was what he did best.
The blinds were half-drawn, cutting the grey light into narrow lines across his desk. He sat in the center, sleeves rolled up, reading through the list of candidates for his trip to Switzerland.
He needed someone reliable. Not easily shaken.
He flipped through files.
Margaret Lin: Fluent in three languages. Solid résumé. Former UN attaché. Next.
Adrian Wolfe — restless. Too many job switches.
Then he opened the next folder.
Jane Hayes
He scanned it slowly.
Columbia undergraduate.
Research Division assistant.
Assigned to Alyssa Grant.
He turned the page for the background check and stopped.
Mother: Fallon Hayes (née Morris).
Former staff, Carrington Estate.
He leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing.
Carrington.
The name hit like a quiet echo.
He typed quickly, pulling up the employee record.
Jane Hayes. Research Division. Temporary. Low clearance.
A soft smile touched his lips.
Raymond Carrington. That man had built his empire on broken backs. Jace knew, because one of those backs had belonged to someone he loved.
He looked at the file again. Jane Hayes.
Daughter of a house servant.
Maybe unaware. Maybe not.
Either way, she was a door someone forgot to lock.
He circled her name.
"Let's see what secrets you didn't know you carried."
He pressed the intercom. "Schedule a meeting with Jane Hayes from PR. Today. Lunchtime."
A pause. The tapping sound of the computer filled the silence as his assistant was trying to search.
"Sir, there's no Jane Hayes in PR. There's one listed under Research. Alyssa Grant's assistant."
"That one," Jace said quietly. "Bring her in."
He ended the call and looked at the folder one more time.
This wasn't just business anymore.
It was personal.
And Jace Davis never wasted opportunities.