Chapter 72
The large study, with its refined desk and pristine new furnishings, felt strangely foreign to Galatea. She found it odd—Alaric’s usual decorating style leaned toward sleek minimalism with a cool color palette, yet this room was unexpectedly warm and inviting.
Today had been a long day of moving in, and she hadn’t had the chance to check her phone. When she finally did, she saw several messages from a sick friend awaiting her response. Carefully, she went through each one, patiently offering advice, suggesting medications, dosages, and necessary precautions.
Then, a particular message caught her eye.
“Always feeling lazy and weak, no appetite, daydreaming—no cure and no doctor to turn to. Is there any hope?”
Galatea frowned. Another internet weirdo?
She typed back, “How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?”
Meanwhile, in his own study, Alaric’s lips curled into a sly smirk as he replied, “Been like this since birth.”
Galatea hesitated before sending her next question. “May I ask how old you are?”
“Thirty-eight,” came the flippant response.
“And you’ve been like this for all thirty-eight years?”
“Yes.”
A flicker of amusement crossed Alaric’s normally stoic face. It wasn’t often that he indulged in jokes, let alone online pranks. Yet, something about this exchange was entertaining in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
Galatea sighed, her fingers moving quickly over the keyboard. “I suggest you go out and find a job. It might do you good not to be idle all the time.”
Alaric let out a rare, unrestrained laugh.
“Unbelievable,” Galatea muttered, closing the chat window with an eye-roll. “Lazy is lazy—no need to sugarcoat it. Some people really have no shame.”
Just as Alaric was still chuckling to himself, Harry emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered. As he passed by the slightly open door of the study, he glimpsed his father laughing—a sight so unfamiliar that he stopped in his tracks.
Curious, he tiptoed in behind him, reading aloud from the chat window, “I suggest you…”
Snap!
Alaric slammed his laptop shut in an instant, whipping around. “When did you come in?”
“Just in time to see you laughing your head off,” Harry said, his curiosity deepening. “Dad, what were you watching just now? You seemed really happy.”
“It’s nothing,” Alaric said dismissively.
Harry squinted. “Are you in love?”
Alaric froze.
“I heard it from Cormac,” Harry continued matter-of-factly. “He said that people in love can’t help but smile stupidly like you just did.”
“What sort of nonsense is Cormac filling your head with?” Alaric scolded, already regretting ever introducing the two. “Go back to your room and sleep!”
Harry pouted but turned to leave. As he walked out, he muttered under his breath, “He was so happy just a second ago, and now he’s all grouchy. So boring!”
Once Harry was gone, Alaric reopened his laptop, only to see that Galatea had logged off. He stared at the screen for a moment before shutting down the computer and leaving the study.
While Alaric went to rest, Galatea found herself unable to sleep. She stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the cityscape of Arizon. The sprawling metropolis stretched endlessly before her, lights twinkling like stars fallen to earth.
To find someone in a city this vast was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Her poor son… where could he be?
The next morning, Alaric was buried in meetings. Hours of intense discussions finally led to a decision—Far East International would be awarded the contract.
“Get the contract draft to me first for review,” Alaric instructed his assistant, Silas Moon. “And arrange a meeting with their representative. We need to finalize the terms in person.”
“Of course, Mr. Alaric,” Silas replied. “From what I understand, Mr. Gavin has been in Arizon ever since he returned to the country. He’s been waiting a long time to meet with you.”
Alaric frowned slightly. Gavin had been in Arizon this whole time? What was he waiting for?
“Alaric, you jerk.”
The voice of an exasperated Cormac echoed down the hallway as he walked into the office.
“You called me over just to make me wait through your meeting?”
Alaric hadn’t anticipated the discussion dragging on for so long, and he actually felt a little guilty about making Cormac wait. He stepped into the elevator, gesturing for his friend to follow.
“What do you feel like eating? My treat.”
Cormac’s eyes immediately lit up.
It was rare for Alaric to offer to buy him a meal, so he fully intended to make the most of it—an expensive restaurant, the priciest steak, and a bottle of the finest wine.
Over lunch, Cormac took his time slicing his steak before glancing up. “It’s not every day Mr. Knight needs to see me. What’s the matter?”
Alaric leaned back slightly, swirling his wine. “I have a question for you.”
“Go on.”
“If there are two kids—same age, almost identical in appearance—but they’re not twins, what are the odds of that happening?”
Cormac’s knife paused mid-cut. He didn’t even need a second to think before answering.
“Medically speaking, even identical twins don’t look exactly alike. As for two unrelated individuals being indistinguishable, the probability is almost zero.”
“Almost zero…” Alaric murmured, rolling the words around in his mind.
Cormac arched an eyebrow. “Why the sudden curiosity?”
“Just wondering,” Alaric replied casually, taking a sip of his wine.
Cormac scoffed. “Are you that bored?” He shook his head. “You’re not acting like the Alaric I know.”
Alaric remained silent, deep in thought.
Cormac, midway through chewing another bite of steak, finally added, “I mean, if you’re talking about probability, it’s nearly impossible. But the world is full of strange occurrences. It’s not unheard of for two people to resemble each other. They might not be completely identical, but small differences can go unnoticed.”
Alaric set down his cutlery, his expression suddenly serious. “You didn’t witness Orion’s pregnancy or the birth of her child, did you?”
Cormac blinked. “What?”
“Answer me.”
“I was abroad the entire time,” Cormac admitted. “I didn’t even hear rumors about it. By the time I returned, the child was already born.”
Alaric’s fingers tightened around his glass.
“Could it be possible, then,” he asked, his voice low and measured, “that the person who had my child wasn’t Orion at all?”
Cormac’s fork clattered against his plate. He stared at Alaric in disbelief.
“Alaric…” he said slowly, “have you lost your mind? What are you talking about?”