Alexander picked up a tablet, the soft glow of its screen illuminating the sharp angles of his face, his attention seemingly consumed by whatever was displayed there.
Claire watched him and took a tentative step towards him, her voice soft and a little hesitant. "Should I cook something for you?"
Alexander was about to open his mouth, perhaps to give his customary dismissive reply, but before a word could escape his lips, the sharp, insistent ring of his phone cut through the hushed grandeur of the estate. It was a jarring sound, a stark intrusion of the outside world into their strained, quiet bubble. He pulled it from his pocket, his gaze immediately snapping to the caller ID.
He stood up, his tall frame unfolding with a quiet power that made the room feel smaller, more confining. His expression, which had held a flicker of something unreadable, now hardened into the controlled focus of a man who had just shifted gears to business.
"No need," he stated, his voice clipped and final, already turning away to accept the call.
Claire watched him, her shoulders slumping further as he ascended the grand staircase. His back was straight, his conversation already in full swing, his voice a low, authoritative murmur.
In the meantime, as Alexander's footsteps faded into the upper reaches of the mansion, Miley's gentle voice carried from the entrance hall. She approached Claire, her steps soft and respectful.
"Mrs. Sterling," Miley said, her expression kind, "A postman just arrived with a delivery for you. It looks rather important."
Claire's eyes widened slightly. A delivery? For her? In this house? A flicker of genuine surprise, a rare spark of positive emotion, ignited within her. The thought of something familiar, something that belonged to her, was a sudden, unexpected comfort.
"Oh," Claire breathed, a faint smile touching her lips. "Thank you, Miley. I'll just..." She started to take a step towards the front door, a renewed sense of purpose lending a fleeting strength to her legs. But her still-healing muscles, weakened by injury and prolonged inactivity, protested violently. A sharp, searing pain shot through her left leg, causing her to gasp aloud. Her knees buckled unexpectedly, and she stumbled, her body beginning to fall with a soft, helpless thud. A faint cry escaped her lips, more a sound of surprise than agony.
Upstairs, Alexander, still engrossed in his phone conversation, was about to turn a corner on the landing. The soft sound of Claire's fall, though muffled by the mansion's thick walls, somehow registered in his heightened senses. He paused mid-stride, his conversation abruptly halting, his head snapping around. His dark eyes, usually so impassive, flickered with an almost imperceptible flash of alarm. He took a single, instinctive step back down the stairs, a primal, unthinking reaction to the sound of distress.
But before he could descend further, before his logical mind could fully process the situation, Miley was already there. She moved with an astonishing swiftness, her movements fluid and practiced. In a blur of motion, she was at Claire's side, her arms already steadying her, helping her regain her balance and preventing a full fall.
"Mrs. Sterling, are you alright?" Miley asked, her voice filled with genuine concern, her hands gentle but firm as she supported Claire. "You must be careful. Let me help you."
Alexander watched for a split second, his gaze fixed on Miley's quick response, on the capable hands that were already assisting Claire. The initial flicker of concern in his eyes dimmed, replaced once more by his usual, guarded expression. He saw that Claire was being helped, that the situation was under control. He turned back to his phone, his conversation resuming as if nothing had happened, his voice regaining its controlled cadence.
Miley's gentle hand on her arm guided Claire through the opulent corridors of the Sterling estate, up the grand staircase, and finally into her vast bedroom. She then carefully brought in a rectangular box from the hallway, placing it on the elegant side table beside Claire.
With trembling hands, she reached for the box. It wasn't large, but it felt heavy with unspoken possibilities. Her fingers fumbled with the tape, a rare moment of clumsiness betraying her inner turmoil.
Claire quickly opened the box, her breath catching in her throat. Inside, nestled amongst tissue paper, were a few of her most cherished belongings – a well-worn copy of her favorite classical novel, a small, intricately carved wooden bird, and a faded, plush pumpkin bear. It was an old, silly toy, a gift from Sasha years ago, but it had always brought her comfort. Seeing it now, here, in this sterile environment, was like a sudden, warm embrace from a familiar past. Her eyes brightened, a genuine smile, the first in days, gracing her lips.
A wave of poignant nostalgia washed over her, mingled with a profound sense of gratitude. Someone had known. Someone had cared enough to gather these fragments of her old life and send them to her. It could only be one person.
Just as the realization solidified in her mind, her phone, lying forgotten beside her on the nightstand, vibrated with an incoming call. The caller ID glowed, confirming her suspicion.
"Sasha," she breathed, answering almost instantly, a joyous lightness entering her voice.
"Did you miss your pumpkin bear?" Sasha's voice, bright and teasing, came through the line, confirming Claire's suspicion. The familiar, playful lilt in Sasha's tone was like a lifeline, pulling Claire back to a world of genuine affection and uncomplicated friendship.
Claire's smile widened, but her voice was laced with an incredulous mix of delight and disbelief. "How— I mean, how did you even enter...? I mean, did you just enter my room and pack and come out? Are you crazy?" The thought of Sasha, so fearless and direct, waltzing into her old room, was almost too much to comprehend.
Sasha laughed, a clear, unrestrained sound that filled Claire's ears with warmth. "Yes! Exactly like that!"
"Don't," Claire twisted, not believing her friend's brazenness, yet utterly charmed by it. "You didn't."
"Okay, okay," Sasha relented, a softer note entering her voice. "I went to your house with my dad. You know... he had to make me not angry at him after... well, you know." There was a brief, unspoken acknowledgement of Daniel's earlier rough handling. "So he talked to your dad – obviously not your stepmom, she was busy orchestrating something dramatic, I'm sure. I told him that you'd miss all those things, that you'd want some bits of your life back. So... I just packed a few essentials."
"Really! Oh my god, Sasha, thank you!" Claire's heart swelled with affection. "That was so thoughtful. Is Dad... is he looking good?" A faint worry for her father, always overshadowed by Evlyen's drama.
"Yes, he is," Sasha replied, a reassuring warmth in her voice. "A bit stressed, maybe, but he seemed... relieved to have handled something, for you. He even seemed a little proud."
"Oh," Claire murmured, a pang of mixed emotions. Her father's quiet gestures of affection were rare, making them all the more precious.
"Did you open the letter?" Sasha asked, a hint of excitement in her tone.
"Letter?" Claire frowned, then remembered. The box had contained more than just her familiar belongings. Her eyes darted back to the open box. Tucked beneath the book, a pristine white envelope lay. With trembling fingers, she quickly opened it.
Her eyes scanned the formal letterhead, then darted to the key sentences. It was an acceptance letter. Not just any acceptance, but an official confirmation for the Master's program in Applied Economics at City Central University – the very program she had applied to months ago, the one she had yearned for, the one she had resigned herself to giving up.
Claire literally gasped, a choked, disbelieving sound that escaped her lips. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide, scanning the words again as if they might change. "And this?" she whispered, the question barely audible. "How... how is this here?"
Sasha's voice on the phone was filled with a bright, triumphant smile. "Your dad also insisted on making sure you got that. He said he pulled some strings, made some calls. Said you deserved it after everything."
"Oh my god!" Claire almost jumped off the chaise lounge, a surge of pure, unadulterated joy coursing through her veins. This was her dream, resurrected, offered back to her. For a fleeting second, the walls of the gilded cage seemed to dissolve. She imagined herself walking through university halls, debating economic theories, analyzing market trends, finally pursuing the intellectual passion that had always defined her.
But in the very next second, the elation vanished, replaced by a crushing wave of reality. Her body froze, the burgeoning excitement dying in her chest, leaving a cold, hollow ache. She remained silent, her smile fading, her gaze fixed on the acceptance letter that now felt less like a beacon of hope and more like a cruel taunt.
"What happened?" Sasha's voice, sharp with immediate concern, broke through Claire's sudden silence.
"Claire? Are you okay? You sounded so excited."
Claire swallowed, the lump in her throat returning. She looked around the opulent bedroom, at the grand, imposing furniture, at the closed door that led to Alexander's world. The weight of her new reality, her new identity as Alexander Sterling's wife, settled upon her, heavy and unyielding.
"I don't know if I can attend this, Sasha," Claire said, her voice barely a whisper, thick with despair. The dream, so close, felt impossibly far away again.
"Why not?" Sasha's voice was incredulous, laced with genuine confusion.
"It's City Central, Claire! Your dream! You worked so hard for this!" As Claire remained silent, the gravity of the situation slowly dawned on Sasha. Her voice dropped, a sharp edge of accusation entering it. "Is the Sterling family that controlling? Alexander won't even allow his wife to study?" The implication was clear: was this powerful, modern man, this titan of industry, so restrictive that he would deny his wife her education, her intellectual pursuits?
"I don't know," Claire said, her voice small, defeated. She closed her eyes, picturing Alexander's rigid face, his cold eyes, his emphasis on "terms" and "responsibilities." "But I think... I think he would say no." The words were a bitter confession, a stark acknowledgment of the invisible chains that now bound her, far more restrictive than any physical bandage.