CHAPTER 152: PIECES IN MOTION

In Alaric’s car,

The hum of the engine was a steady undertone to the muted bustle outside. Aveline sat in the passenger seat, one elbow propped lightly on the armrest, her gaze on the road and the view beyond the glass.

He kept his eyes on the road, though every so often he stole a glance at her, catching the slight furrow of her brow as she finished up her calls with her team.

When she finally set her mobile aside, he said quietly, "Sunshine..."

Her head turned toward him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. He had been unbelievably quiet in his father’s office, so she could guess what he wanted to ask.

"Why did you let Seraphina Astor off?" His tone was measured.

He wouldn’t have cared if Aveline had wanted to remain behind the scenes. But she had gone further, she had told them not to attack the Astors.

Though his father might handle it diplomatically, Alaric couldn’t quite accept staying quiet against someone who had so obviously orchestrated the whole situation.

Aveline hesitated for just a heartbeat before answering. "I don’t think Seraphina Astor is as dumb as she was pretending. I have checked her background, her studies, her military service, and her actions. Especially the fact that she’s a lawyer. None of it matches what we saw."

Alaric paused mid-thought, abandoning his mental calculation of ’an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’ to listen.

"She’s not stupid enough to pretend she was just looking around when she knows every inch of the Emerald’s public space is under surveillance," Aveline continued, her voice steady but her fingers absently twisting the ring on her hand.

"She knows exactly how a call log could be used against her, so why would she use her personal mobile to call Dahlia? She could’ve had her secretary fetch Dahlia without leaving a trail."

It was deliberate. Seraphina had wanted them to find the trail and get angry at her.

"Despite knowing how important her debut event was, she first shifted attention to me upon my arrival. Then she used Dahlia Astor to ruin my reputation. Yet this wasn’t about me, Alaric. It’s about something tied to you... or something bigger."

Her gaze drifted out the window as the city blocks slid by. "The Laurents and Astors never crossed paths before." Though the political family held power, it lasted only as long as five years. The Laurents always chose not to interfere with politics or the political families.

Even when Dahlia stole Aveline’s bag, she had no idea it was Aveline’s, because she truly didn’t know who Aveline was.

"Do you really think Seraphina doesn’t know Apex belongs to you? Or that you wouldn’t dig into every detail about her and Dahlia?"

Alaric’s jaw tightened.

Aveline shrugged. "She planned something big, and I don’t know what it is. So why give her the chance to use me as a pawn?"

He realized then, he had been looking at the result while she had been studying the moves that caused it.

"You’re saying she wanted us to attack her?" he asked, glancing at her when the traffic slowed.

Aveline hummed in agreement, meeting his eyes. She wasn’t claiming to understand Seraphina’s true motives, she admitted she had no real insight into the Astor family dynamics, but her instincts were sharp.

"No need to rush into hunting her or the Astors down," she said. "First, we find out why."

Alaric’s fingers tapped the wheel lightly as he processed her words.

She went on, softer this time, "Maybe it’s just intuition, but I feel like she’s targeting you, Alaric." A beat of silence. "Talk to your mother. She might know something." She suggested it because Seraphina lived in the family mansion with her in-laws.

However, Alaric doubted Isabella would help when Nicholas was involved. His mother had a long history of overlooking his half-brother’s actions. Nevertheless, he understood Aveline’s point.

The light turned green, and they rolled forward again. He couldn’t help but think that she was in this problem again because of him.

Glancing at her, he wished to keep her away from the problems, yet he wanted her, he needed her by his side.

Aveline smoothly steered the conversation to different and lighter topics.

At Cullens Architects:

They stopped in front of a sleek glass-and-steel structure with a minimalist logo etched into the entrance. Through the tinted glass, the reception area was visible under warm lighting, with stylish counters and a modern chandelier that looked like it belonged in a design magazine.

As they stepped out of the car, Aveline looked at him as he walked around the car to reach her, and asked, "Could you send me Seraphina Astor’s file?"

He didn’t ask why. Instead, he said, "Come to my place tonight. I’ll give you access to the Apex server. It’s safer that way to avoid traces on your personal devices." He wouldn’t want her to get caught up in another problem because of any negligence.

She understood his worry. But she arched a brow, her lips tugging into a smirk. "Apex server... That would have files on just about everyone you’ve ever looked into, wouldn’t it?" She didn’t wait for a response.

Her voice dipped with playful accusation. "Tell me, are you using this as an excuse to invite me over? Or are you not worried I’ll sell you out for giving me confidential access?"

He smirked back, leaning just close enough to be deliberate. "Actually, I’m glad you gave me the idea. Now I can bring you closer... and end the night as pleasantly as it started this morning."

Aveline resisted at first, but she giggled, the sound light but quick. She took her car key fob from his driver, who then slipped into Alaric’s car.

"See you this evening." After saying this, she started stepping away, but Alaric’s hand tugged her back.

His guilt was clear as day to her. She was mature enough to know that every relationship faces problems, some arise between couples, some are caused by the world around them.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, feigning a stern tone. "Don’t say sorry." Then, with a mischievous glint, she added, "You know... we’re more or less in a relationship already."

He snorted in dissatisfaction. "I don’t want ’more or less.’ I want you." Yet he was willing to wait until she could take that leap.

Aveline pursed her lips, hearing his certainty. "I’m enjoying this platonic life for the first time," she teased. "A relationship isn’t just based on physical desire, but there’s still this tension..." She pointed between them as she continued, "The building, the waiting, it’s good. Otherwise..." she let the words hang with a grin, "... I might keep you in bed."

He tilted his head, tempted to counter with something sharper, but a glance at her team waiting inside reined him in. "It’ll be me tying you to the bed."

"Argh..." She gave a dramatic, fake groan. "I have a meeting. Don’t let my imagination run wild." She stepped away as she waved her hand and entered the building.

His laugh was genuine, but it faded as the elevator doors closed on her.

Alaric stood there, watching his reflection in the glass for a moment longer than necessary. He truly wanted to shut out his troublesome family and live in peace with her.

But he knew how much she valued family. If he wanted to build one with her, he would have to fix the one he grew up in. Cutting ties felt like betraying her.

And somewhere in that realization was another truth: he truly had gone soft, and he didn’t mind it if it was for her.

As he was driving away, they didn’t notice a man in a tailored suit and a round hat.

Theodore Marston exited the building and got into a black Bentley. He instructed the driver, "Drive to the prison."

The high walls of Velmora Central Jail loomed like a concrete fortress against the midday sky. Tall iron gates stood ahead, flanked by two bored-looking guards with rifles slung over their shoulders.

A sleek black Bentley rolled to a stop outside.

Without hurry, Theodore walked to the entrance. The guards at the gate straightened instinctively.

Theodore handed over a crisp permission letter, the ink still sharp against white paper, authorizing his visit to meet one particular inmate.

Inside, the security check was thorough. Belts, watches, phones, all stripped away into plastic trays. The officer at the counter informed him that mobile phones weren’t allowed beyond that point.

Theodore, without batting an eye, slid a folded bill across the desk. "Print me a few of these," he said, handing over his phone with a series of selected photos.

The man hesitated for a beat, then vanished into the backroom. When he returned, the pictures were still warm from the printer.

With the printed photos and a few papers, Theodore made his way to the visitors’ waiting room. A sterile, windowless space where a single wall of thick glass divided the free from the imprisoned. He took his seat and leaned back.

The door on the far side buzzed open, and a person entered.

Damien Ashford.

The man had once been the picture of confidence, sharp suit, sharper tongue, eyes that carried arrogance. Now, he was in a faded prison uniform, hair grown uneven. But his gaze? Still sharp enough to cut glass.

His expression darkened the instant it landed on Theodore. "What the hell are you here for? To gloat at my misfortune?" His lip curled. "Simon Caldwell..." he bit the name out like it was poison, "...get your smug face out of my sight before you find yourself rotting in the next cell over."

Theodore’s lips curved, not into a full smile, but something colder, edged with amusement.

Simon Marston Caldwell.

But the world didn’t know him as Simon.

In boardrooms and private clubs, he was Theodore Marston, heir to his mother’s empire, and a man who never arrived anywhere without a purpose.