Chapter 159: Unspoken Truths
Alaric listened intently, his mind working through the implications of Cormac’s words. Mrs. Marigold’s cold indifference mirrored that of Griffon. Both were willing to sacrifice anyone for their family’s interests, disregarding anyone outside their bloodline, showing no mercy. Alaric knew exactly how dangerous that kind of mindset could be.
He thought of Caspian, unaware of his true lineage, only to be called a “bastard” by Mrs. Marigold herself. That alone made it clear that she would never hesitate to harm Galatea if it suited her.
“Don’t worry,” Alaric said firmly, his voice laced with conviction. “I’ll protect Galatea. I won’t let her become the next Rowena.”
At those words, Cormac’s lips twitched into a faint smile before he sighed heavily. “I feel useless, Alaric. I couldn’t even protect the woman I loved.” His gaze grew distant, as though he was lost in a sea of past regrets. “I just hope Rowena can one day escape the shadows of the past and live her life the way she deserves.”
Alaric couldn’t help but admire Cormac’s enduring loyalty. Even after all these years, Rowena was still the only woman who had ever mattered to him. That kind of devotion wasn’t something you saw every day.
“Since we’re at the winery, let’s drink,” Cormac declared with a half-hearted grin. “I’m not going home sober tonight. Cheers!”
He downed his glass in one go, and Alaric followed suit, though with far less enthusiasm. Guilt gnawed at him. He had unintentionally stirred up Cormac’s painful memories, memories that were clearly far from healed.
“I’ll join you,” Alaric said, “but I have to pick up Galatea tonight, so no drinking for me. I’ll stick to coffee.”
“Heartless,” Cormac muttered, shaking his head. “If you’re not drinking, then why the hell did you drag me here? You’re such a jerk.”
Alaric didn’t retort. He could see that Cormac’s mood was fragile today, so he let the insult slide.
Meanwhile, across town, Galatea was immersed in the final stages of her clinic’s renovation. The sign above the door read “Reassuring Clinic”—a name she’d chosen herself. It was simple, yet it conveyed the feeling she wanted to create: a safe space where people could find comfort and healing.
She was checking the inventory of medical equipment when she heard the door open. Startled, she stepped out to greet the visitor. Before she could say anything, her gaze locked onto the figure standing in the doorway. Her heart sank.
“How did you find this place?” she demanded, her voice cold. The person who had walked in was none other than Ambrose.
Galatea’s disgust was apparent, her expression hardening immediately.
“Ambrose,” she said, her voice steely. “I told you last time—if you keep tracking me, I’ll call the police.”
Ambrose, however, didn’t seem deterred. “Stellan, don’t you remember what I told you at the hotel? Don’t you want to know the real reason behind Brennan’s death?”
“I already told Alaric,” Galatea replied firmly, “and he’s helping me investigate. So, you can stop with your threats.”
At this, Ambrose couldn’t help but laugh. “You actually believe Alaric will help you? Do you think he’s a god? It’s been seven years. What could he possibly uncover now?”
Galatea’s gaze sharpened. “Why should I believe you, Ambrose? What makes you think I’ll trust anything you say?”
Ambrose stepped closer, a dark glint in his eyes. “Because deep down, you don’t believe Brennan committed suicide either. As long as you have doubts, you’ll have no choice but to trust me.”
Galatea took a step forward, her voice laced with venom. “Fine. I’ll believe you have evidence. But I need to ask you something first.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you have this evidence? How do you know the truth behind my father’s death? If you had it back then, why didn’t you come forward? Why did you leave without a word when I needed you most? And why, after all these years, after I’ve moved on and found someone else, are you bringing it up now? Why threaten me with it?”
Ambrose was momentarily taken aback. He stuttered, trying to form a response, but Galatea wasn’t done.
Her voice was sharp as she continued, “Or maybe I should ask it another way: What role did you play in the bankruptcy and framing of the Storm family, Ambrose? If you’re so innocent, why do you know the hidden truth about it?”
The questions hit Ambrose like a slap. He hadn’t expected Galatea to think so deeply, to see through him like that.
“Why aren’t you answering, Ambrose?” Galatea’s eyes gleamed with increasing hostility. “You’re just going to keep making excuses, aren’t you?”
Ambrose was shaking now, his face pale. He reached out suddenly, grabbing Galatea’s arm, his voice urgent. “Stellan, it’s not what you think. I was forced into this. I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to…”
“You never wanted to hurt me?” Galatea’s voice was cold, cutting through his words like a blade. “The fact is, Ambrose, you’ve hurt me deeply. I won’t believe a word you say anymore. My father was right about you. You came into my life with ulterior motives.”
“I thought you were just after my status,” she went on, her voice rising in anger. “Using me to climb the ranks in the Storm family. But now, it seems it’s worse than that. You’ve been manipulating me from the start. You never loved me.”
Ambrose’s face contorted with pain. “No!” He was frantic now. “Stellan, you can hate me, you can even kill me, but you can’t say that I didn’t love you. You’re more important to me than my own life. If you’re in danger right now, I would die for you. Can Alaric do that? Can he die for you?”
Galatea’s expression didn’t soften. “Because I love Alaric,” she said, her voice steady, “I can’t bear the thought of him dying for me. But you… the idea of you dying for me… it disgusts me.”
Her words were like a dagger to Ambrose’s chest, and he staggered back, his face pale.
“Stellan, you just say you love Alaric?” he asked, his voice breaking.
“Yes,” Galatea replied without hesitation. “I love Alaric.”
She glanced at the time, then added, “Alaric is coming to pick me up. Are you sure you want to stay here? Think carefully. If Alaric sees you, your project might be in jeopardy.”
Ambrose’s expression twisted in anger, but he didn’t say another word. “I can leave now,” he said, turning toward the door. “But remember this, Stellan: you belong to me. Only to me.”
With those words, he slammed the door behind him, leaving Galatea standing there, a sick feeling settling in her stomach.
As the door closed, Galatea felt a sudden wave of relief wash over her. She stepped outside and stood at the door, waiting for Alaric. When she finally saw his car, her mood shifted, a smile tugging at her lips. She climbed into the car, but the moment she saw him, something inside her shifted. The remnants of Ambrose’s confrontation clouded her thoughts, making her feel irrational.
Before Alaric could speak, Galatea leaned in, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was as impulsive as it was passionate.