Chapter 151
Chapter 151:
Alycia stared at her own reflection in the polished steel elevator doors — tear-streaked, jaw tight, unrecognizable.
“What do I do?” she whispered.
“You need a chain he cannot break,” Susan said, her voice dropping into something low and deliberate. “Come home right now. I have found a doctor. We are going to make sure you give the Compton family an heir. One way or another p>
The elevator chimed. The doors opened to the dim concrete of the parking garage.
Alycia walked out. She passed a metal trash can and hurled the paper bag of pastries into it without slowing her stride. She dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks.
The crying girl was gone. What remained had made its decision.
Saturday morning arrived with a heavy, freezing drizzle. A thick layer of gray fog lay over the Compton family’s private mausoleum.
June walked through the wrought-iron gates in a thick black turtleneck, a large umbrella held steady against the rain. She moved down the slate path and stopped in front of Caleb’s black granite headstone.
She brought no flowers today. She did not cry. She stood perfectly still, the rain drumming a steady, quiet rhythm against the fabric of the umbrella.
She looked at the faded Polaroid of the boy who had saved her life. Her eyes were clear — carrying something deeper than calm, something that had been forged rather than found.
𝖣оո’𝗍 m𝘪𝘴𝗌 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘳el𝗲𝖺𝘀𝘦s о𝗇
In her mind, she spoke to him. I finally understand, Caleb. I understand the difference between the boy who gave me life and the man who tried to destroy it. I am leaving him. I am taking my life back.
June lowered her umbrella for a brief moment and let the cold rain touch her face. She gave the headstone a slow, respectful bow.
Then she turned and walked out of the cemetery. Her steps were steady and unhurried. She did not look back once.
Three hours later, the crunch of heavy tires on wet gravel cut through the fog.
A black bulletproof SUV rolled to a stop outside the cemetery gates. Cole stepped out into the freezing rain in a perfectly tailored black suit, a large umbrella in one hand and an enormous bouquet of pure white Ecuadorian roses in the other. Two bodyguards stepped out behind him.
Cole walked through the gates, raised a hand to signal the guards to stay back, and continued alone to Caleb’s grave.
He stood before the black granite and looked at the Polaroid — the face that was an exact mirror of his own.
A crushing, suffocating wave of guilt pressed against his chest. His breathing went shallow.
Seven years ago, Caleb had begged him to come on that ski trip to Switzerland. Cole had refused, coldly and without apology, too consumed with securing his Harvard placement and proving his dominance to their grandfather to consider anything else. If he had gone, perhaps he could have pulled Caleb out of the snow. Perhaps Caleb would be standing here today, beside him.