Chapter 67
Alaric arrived at the villa, his mind still racing with thoughts about the project, but his focus shifted the moment he saw Harry sitting on the couch. The boy’s posture was stiff, his expression one of simmering frustration.
“Twenty-eight minutes and thirty seconds have passed since I called you,” Harry said in a tone that was equal parts reproachful and sarcastic. “It seems you really do want to starve me to death.”
Alaric’s guilt hit him in waves, though he couldn’t help but chuckle internally at the irony of his son’s dramatics. “Sorry, Caspian. I got stuck in traffic,” he replied, his voice softening. “I’ll make you something to eat right now.”
It had been a long day, one filled with frustrations at work, but Alaric knew that neglecting Harry would only make things worse. Caspian, once distant and closed off, had become more challenging since Galatea’s accident. The rift between them seemed to be growing, and it was becoming harder for Alaric to reach his son. The boy’s mood had shifted drastically since the news, and Alaric could hardly keep up with his emotional turbulence.
“Dinner’s ready, Caspian. Come and eat,” Alaric called, trying to sound casual as he set the plates on the dining table.
Harry, however, didn’t even glance up. “I’m past being hungry. Now I don’t even feel like eating,” he said, grabbing his backpack. As he turned to go upstairs, he added, “You go ahead and eat. I’m going to do my homework.”
Alaric’s patience snapped. He could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him. Without a second thought, he followed Harry upstairs.
Harry had just settled at his desk, ready to dive into his homework, when Alaric grabbed his workbook, stopping him cold.
“What?” Harry grumbled, looking up with irritation. “You won’t let me do my homework now? You better not blame me when the teacher wants to talk with you tomorrow.”
“Are you intentionally trying to cause trouble?” Alaric asked, his voice unexpectedly patient. He pulled up a stool next to Harry’s desk. “If there’s something bothering you, just say it. Stop being so stubborn.”
“I’m not,” Harry replied with a shrug, pulling the workbook back from Alaric’s hand. “You’re overthinking it. With a dad as rich and respected as you, who can actually cook for me, I wouldn’t find better if I searched with a lantern. Why would I pick a fight with you?”
Alaric fell silent, unable to argue with that. It felt like trying to punch a pillow—totally ineffective. The more he tried to get through to Harry, the further the boy seemed to pull away.
“Then focus on your homework,” Alaric said at last, standing up. “I’m leaving.”
Alaric left Harry’s study, a sinking feeling in his chest. He wasn’t sure why his son was pulling away, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to tie back to Galatea’s accident. The whole situation with Harry had become more and more complicated as of late, and he couldn’t figure out how to fix it.
After a few moments of contemplation, Alaric found himself in his office, unable to shake the disquiet gnawing at him. He opened his laptop and began reviewing the documents from the last three companies vying for the project. The comparisons revealed Far East International’s clear advantages, but something was bothering him. If their company was strong enough to win based on merit, why was Gavin so eager to meet with him? Why had he returned to the country so early? Gavin’s actions hinted at something more, as though the project could only be secured through backdoor deals.
Alaric was so tired that the words blurred before his eyes. He’d barely gotten any sleep the night before, and now the mental strain was catching up to him.
Just as he was about to shut down his laptop for the night, something caught his eye. A website open on his screen. Galatea’s website. Alaric’s curiosity piqued, and he clicked the link, seeing her picture prominently featured on the homepage.
He read through her medical profile, noting the impressive credentials. She really was an expert, though he’d always known that. But what he hadn’t expected was that the site was buzzing with activity. Alaric clicked to chat with a doctor, only to see the notification that there were ten people ahead of him.
She’s quite in demand, Alaric thought with an amused smile.
He casually grabbed a book from his shelf and began flipping through it, trying to distract himself as he waited his turn. A notification soon popped up, signaling that it was his turn.
“I’m Dr. Galatea from Serenity Heights Medical Center, General Surgery. What seems to be the problem?”
Alaric chuckled to himself. This was absurd. He never thought he’d be in this position, talking to her as a patient. It was oddly amusing to him. He quickly typed out a message.
“Recently, I’ve been feeling chest tightness, shortness of breath, fatigue, and I’ve also been suffering from insomnia. I keep feeling like I’m about to die.”
Alaric leaned back in his chair, unable to stifle his laughter. He never imagined he would send such nonsense, especially to her.
Galatea’s response came quickly: “Have you had any previous illnesses or experienced any major stress?”
The question caught him off guard. His symptoms sounded like depression, something he didn’t want to admit, especially to her. But instead of answering directly, he decided to have a bit of fun.
“I asked for medical advice, not a cross-examination of my experiences,” he typed. “What? You’re that interested in me?”
He imagined her expression as she read his message and, for some reason, that made him grin even more.
Galatea’s reply came swiftly, and Alaric could almost hear the exasperation in her words. “Neurotic!”
A second message followed: “Please consult this specialist.” She’d even included a referral to a mental health expert, the “Domestic Authority on Mental Health.”
Alaric laughed. She was so consistent, even in this digital realm. Always redirecting him to a psychiatrist.
As he thought about shutting down his laptop, he realized something. Galatea’s resistance to his advances had been puzzling. All this time, he assumed she was using him to climb the ranks, that her care for Caspian had been an act. She had even denied it, claiming that Caspian was her son, accusing Alaric of having delusions.
But now that they were about to marry, and she was still so resistant, he started to question his assumptions. What if they were wrong? What if she wasn’t using him after all?
Just as he was deep in thought, the sudden sound of a door opening broke his concentration. Harry walked into the room, his face lit with concern.
“It’s eleven o’clock. Aren’t you asleep yet?” Harry chided. “Don’t you know, as a parent, you have to lead by example? If you stay up this late, how are you supposed to set a good example for me?”
Alaric, lost in his thoughts and looking for any opportunity to understand Harry better, grabbed his chance. “Caspian, your dad wants to ask you something.”
“I already told you it’s late. You need to sleep, and so do I,” Harry replied, trying to brush him off.
“Just one thing. It’ll be quick,” Alaric insisted, lifting Harry into his arms as he headed toward the bedroom. “When was the first time you met Galatea?”
Harry froze for a moment, his eyes widening. “Why are you asking about my mom?” he asked suspiciously.
Alaric shrugged casually. “Just curious.”
But Harry was not so easily convinced. Had he been found out? he wondered. Trying to remember what Caspian had told him, he quickly answered, “It was that time at the hospital, and then we went out to eat.”
Alaric pressed, “Was that the first time you met?”
Harry hesitated. Had he said too much? Panic crept in. Had his and Caspian’s ruse been discovered?