Chapter 70
Hearing Alaric’s words, Galatea was caught between laughter and tears. Not this again!
“What’s the matter?” Alaric teased. “You’ve successfully won over my son, and you’re not happy about it?”
“Alaric, I don’t want to discuss this anymore,” Galatea sighed, already exhausted by the conversation. “There are physical conditions and then there are psychological ones. I can treat your physical ailments, but as for your mental ones? You should really see a specialist for that.”
“So, Dr. Galatea thinks I have a delusional disorder?”
“Otherwise, what?” She threw up her hands in frustration. “I’ve never even seen your son! I don’t even know what he looks like! First, you call the police on me. Then you accuse me of trying to ingratiate myself with your son. Isn’t that a classic case of delusion?”
Alaric watched her intently, her raw reaction only deepening his suspicions. Could it really be possible that Caspian resembled his son Harry so much that Galatea had mistaken one for the other?
“You know,” Alaric said, “I still haven’t met your son. I’ve wanted to, but for some reason, I never have.”
“Well, you won’t be meeting him anytime soon either,” Galatea replied firmly. “Harry and Elisa are in the countryside on an immersion program. They’ll be gone for two weeks.”
Two weeks? That meant Alaric still wouldn’t be able to see him.
Without a word, he pulled out his phone, scrolled through his photo album, and found a picture of Caspian. Turning the screen toward Galatea, he asked deliberately, “This is your son, right?”
Galatea’s breath hitched the moment she saw Caspian’s face on Alaric’s phone.
“Why do you have a picture of my son?” she demanded, her voice sharp with alarm.
Before Alaric could answer, her anger flared. “Are you investigating me? Alaric, what is wrong with you?! Our relationship is a sham. I’m just your personal doctor! And yet you had someone spy on my son? What are you after?”
Her reaction was too raw, too instinctual. Alaric now knew for sure—she wasn’t lying.
“Are you certain this is your son?” he asked again.
“Of course! What kind of question is that? Do you think I wouldn’t recognize my own child?”
Alaric suddenly let out a low chuckle.
It was absurd. Almost unbelievable.
The truth was finally clicking into place—Caspian, in his rebellious phase, had run away and, by sheer coincidence, met Galatea, who had mistaken him for her own son. And Caspian, longing for a mother’s love, had simply let it happen.
Galatea had never lied.
She had never had ulterior motives.
She had simply acted out of pure, maternal instinct.
“What’s so funny?” Galatea asked, growing uneasy at the way his expression shifted from amusement to something unreadable. “You’re not having another episode, are you?”
Alaric’s gaze sharpened. “It’s been years since your husband passed away. Haven’t you thought about remarrying?”
She blinked. “That’s quite the leap in conversation.”
“Just answer me,” he pressed.
“Even if I were your subordinate, that kind of question is completely inappropriate. Why should I have to answer you?”
Alaric leaned in slightly, his tone turning authoritative. “If one of my female employees starts dating, gets married, then has a child, it inevitably affects her work. So you do have to answer me.”
Galatea stared at him incredulously. “It won’t.”
Her voice held such finality that Alaric instinctively knew she was telling the truth.
“I will never marry again. Ever.”
For her, this had never been a question.
First, she had already been deeply wounded by love once before. She didn’t want to, nor did she have the courage, to embark on another relationship.
Second—and most importantly—her marriage had never been based on romance. It had been a transaction, nothing more. And the birth of her son…
It had been shrouded in secrets and disgrace.
To this day, she didn’t even know who the father was. All she had ever been sure of was that the child was hers. Yet even that certainty had been shaken when Mrs. Marigold presented her with DNA results that contradicted everything.
She still had no idea what had truly happened back then.
“You sure are faithful when it comes to love,” Alaric said, voice laced with sarcasm. “Your man has been dead for so many years, and yet you still insist on pledging your loyalty to his memory?”
The irony of it made Galatea want to laugh.
Because in truth, her relationship with Ambrose had never been intimate. Her father had been too strict for that. And as for the child…
It hadn’t been conceived in love.
It had been through artificial insemination.
So despite being a mother, when it came to real, physical intimacy—she had no experience whatsoever.
“It’s not about loyalty,” she answered honestly. “It’s because love is the most unreliable thing. I’d rather spend my time reading medical books than dating. At least the money I earn is something I can count on—unlike a man.”
Alaric narrowed his eyes.
One moment, she spoke with deep reverence for her late husband. The next, she dismissed love as worthless.
She was contradicting herself.
He really couldn’t figure Galatea out.
“What kind of women do you like?” Galatea suddenly asked, tilting her head in curiosity.
Alaric frowned. “Why?”
“I’m just curious,” she said, clearly amused by his reactions. “Since you made such a fuss last time when I joked about your… preferences, I figured you must have pretty strong opinions on the subject.”
His expression turned cold. “I don’t know what I like. But I do know what I despise—women who lecture me with grand ideals, who act morally superior, who look down on me while preaching righteousness.”
Galatea chuckled. “Why don’t you just say you hate me and get it over with?”
Alaric’s jaw clenched.
“You,” she continued, smirking, “would be much better off with a sweet, obedient little kitten of a woman—one who listens to everything you say, who’s soft and gentle, who dotes on you and admires you like a god.”
“Enough,” he cut her off sharply.
“Did I strike a nerve?”
“We’re ending this conversation here,” he declared. “Tomorrow is Wednesday. You’re scheduled to give me acupuncture at the office. Don’t be late.”
“Considering it’s only a three- to five-minute walk from here to your office, I think I’ll manage.”
“Good.” Alaric glanced at his watch, then stood up. “I have to pick up my son now. I’m leaving.”
“Oh, Mr. Alaric, slow down…” Galatea started to say, but when she saw the sharp look he gave her, she quickly corrected herself. “I mean—dear Alaric, take your time leaving.”
Alaric narrowed his eyes. “Remember—if you slip up again, I will punish you.”
“I understand,” she said lightly.
Once Alaric left, he found himself feeling… conflicted.
On one hand, he was amused.
On the other, he was frustrated.
At the school, Harry got into the car without a word, silent as a rabbit.
Alaric studied him for a moment. “Caspian, you really like Galatea, don’t you?”
Harry stiffened. “Yeah.”
Alaric smirked. “Galatea moved near Nexus Innovations. You can go see her anytime you want.”
Harry’s breath caught. She moved? Mom moved?
“I’ll take you to see her today.”
Alaric was going to take him home.