Chapter 39: Master

The tension cracked the moment Richard stormed out after Rebecca. He spotted Alistair and immediately scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. “Well, what do we have here?” No one answered. Rebecca’s eyes were already red, but the second she saw Alistair, her expression wavered, and they brimmed with deeper hurt. She looked devastated. When their eyes briefly met and Alistair turned away without a word, she looked even more heartbroken. Richard hated being ignored—by anyone. Whether it was Rebecca or Alistair, it bruised his ego all the same.

“Alistair, let’s be clear. You’re divorced. You’ve got no reason to be here, so stop hanging around like a stray dog.” Alistair glanced at him—once, lazily—with the kind of contempt that said more than any insult could. His eyes all but spelled out the word: pathetic. Richard reached for Rebecca’s wrist. “Don’t bother with him. Let’s go.”

She yanked her hand back with a glare he didn’t recognize. “Get away from me.” Alistair, who’d already turned to leave, paused mid-step. Weren’t they supposed to be the kind of couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other, the type who fed each other dessert in public and called it romance? If they argued at all, it should be over Richard glancing too long at a waitress—Rebecca would lose it, accuse him of betrayal, and then make him beg for forgiveness. But this? This looked like a breakup. Like she wanted him gone for good. Did I get this all wrong? Then again, it didn’t concern him.

“Let’s go, Alban,” he said quietly.

“Yes, sir. This way.”

Alistair didn’t miss the sharp shift in atmosphere behind him. He smiled. Alban had done that on purpose. That one word—“sir”—had effectively shut down the argument behind them. Richard blinked. “Wait—sir?”

Rebecca said nothing. Her lips were pressed tight, her eyes locked on Alistair’s retreating back. His figure was tall and elegant, his stride steady, his whole presence… unfamiliar in the worst way. How did I never see it before? The words Cordelia had whispered to her came rushing back.

“No parent wants to see their child suffer. Rebecca, if you ever come to your senses—if you want to reconcile with Alistair—we won’t stand in your way. He’s proven himself. He passed every test your father and I could throw at him. Compared to the people we’ve met in our lifetime, Alistair stands out. If you’re with him, we’ll finally be able to stop worrying.”

As Alistair disappeared from view, something hollow cracked open inside her. Like someone had scooped out her chest and left it echoing.

Richard snorted. “What now? Still hung up on your ex? You always had a thing for him, didn’t you?”

Rebecca didn’t answer. Her lashes fluttered down like a curtain falling on a scene she didn’t want to watch. He stepped closer, tone sharp. “I’ll ask one last time—are we getting married today or not?”

She lifted her chin slowly and met his gaze head-on. “No, we’re not.” Maybe it was true what they said—people only wanted what they couldn’t have. Because whatever love she once felt for Richard was gone, buried beneath disappointment and something sourer. She looked at the face she once adored, and all she could feel now was disgust.

“Fine,” Richard snapped, yanking open the car door. “You’d better not come crying back to me when you regret this.”

As he turned to get in, his eyes caught the sleek black Bentley parked next to him. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was Alistair’s. And hadn’t Alistair been chauffeured around in a Maybach the other day outside Daniel’s school? Custom suits. High-end rides. And now—being called sir? Wait. Is Alistair some kind of secret heir? No. That didn’t track. Back in school, he was dirt poor. If he’d been old money, why grovel for years just to scrape together two million dollars? Unless…

Richard’s mind raced. What if he was a lost son of some rich family, only found after the divorce? The jealousy twisted in his gut. Why does he get so lucky? But then came a new theory. One that comforted him just enough to smirk again. No. No, I get it now. Alistair’s being kept. He’s got a sugar mama. One of those rich, wrinkled, perfume-drenched women who giggle like hyenas. That’s it. That’s the only explanation.

“Your ex really hit the jackpot,” he muttered, dripping sarcasm. “Guess that pretty face finally paid off.”

Rebecca opened her mouth. He cut her off, smirking. “Changed your mind? Too bad. I’m not in the mood anymore. We’ll talk about the whole getting registered thing some other day.” He turned to leave. But then—

“That’s my car.” She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t scream, and just stated it, calm and sharp. Richard froze. He let out a bitter laugh, slammed the door shut, and tossed the keys at her feet. Then he walked away.

Rebecca crouched to pick them up. This time, she knew—he was actually mad. Richard, with all his arrogance, probably wouldn’t come back. And somehow, she didn’t care. Not even a little.

Once they were out of sight, Alban dropped the formal tone entirely. “So… you knew them?”

Alistair gave a small nod. “My ex-wife and…” He wasn’t even sure if that was true. Technically, Rebecca and Richard should have been married by now. That had been her dream—marry Richard and live happily ever after. So he finished his sentence. “And her… husband. Probably.”

Alban, who had seen far worse, simply nodded.

The paperwork went through without a hitch. Outside, Alban rushed ahead and pulled open the car door for him. Alistair thanked him with a small nod and ducked inside. What he didn’t see—couldn’t see—was the woman sitting motionless in the driver’s seat of a nearby car.

Rebecca watched as the Bentley pulled away, tail lights flaring briefly before vanishing around the corner. Her world had stopped. How did he go from being the man who bent over backward for me, to the one other people call “sir”?

She refused to believe Richard’s theory about a sugar mama. That was just… filthy. Alistair wasn’t some nobody paying off his father’s debt. He wasn’t a servant. He should be an heir, a real one. That was the only thing that made sense. But then… why would someone like that waste six years waiting on me? Cooking, cleaning, raising my son like his own? Taking care of me like I was his whole world?

Her breath caught. Because he loved me.

Because Alistair had loved her enough to accept her terms. To endure her indifference. To care for her and Daniel with quiet, loyal devotion. He must have waited every day for her to turn around and finally see him. And she hadn’t.

Her body broke into a cold sweat. No. I was wrong. That woman at the school—she wasn’t his girlfriend. She was an actress. Someone he hired to make me jealous. That has to be it! The more she convinced herself, the more certain she became. Regret swelled like a tidal wave. She leaned back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut, and the memories flooded in.

“Rebecca, dinner’s ready. Want me to wake you up now?” “I ironed your clothes. They’re hanging in the closet.” “I already sent gifts to your parents.” “Danny’s not feeling great. I’m taking him to the hospital.”

Simple, ordinary moments she’d once ignored—maybe even found annoying—now shimmered in her mind like the purest, rarest kind of love.

“Last night was a mistake. I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything.” “Forget me. Forget everything between us.” “I love you. I miss you so much it’s killing me. Let’s go home and get married.” “Are you really that blind, Rebecca? Your parents don’t even treat you like their daughter anymore. Can’t you see it?” “I’m giving you one last chance. If you keep acting like this, I’m gone. For good.”

Richard’s voice crashed into the memories, ruining everything. She clenched her fists, trying to shake him from her mind—but he stuck like glue. She looked around. The scent in the car was his cologne. The seat was adjusted to his height. The mini-fridge was stocked with his drinks. His tie and blazer were thrown casually in the back. Even the playlist was his. She used to crave his presence so much that she’d cover her bedroom with his photos, sleeping with his shirts just to feel close to him. Now, it all made her nauseous. The air felt heavy and suffocating. Without thinking, she rolled down the window and started tossing everything out—his tie, his jacket, even the car’s air freshener.

Then she remembered—he’d been driving this car for days. The driver’s seat was his. She reached for the seat cover, about to rip it off—

A knock on the window startled her. A security guard held up the discarded items, frowning. “Miss, please don’t litter.”

Rebecca froze.

At Ashbourne Manor, Alistair’s second visit felt more like coming home. “Alistair, there you are,” Mabel beamed. “Come in, sit down! Lila made fresh pastries—they’re still warm!” She spoke to him as if he’d grown up at her side like Caroline. Alistair sat down obediently, taking a bite. Soft, chewy, and just sweet enough. Mabel’s eyes twinkled. “Is it good?”

He nodded. “Delicious.”

“I’ll have Lila make more this afternoon. Bring some back for Caroline and Eloise.” She chuckled and then added, “Caroline’s picky. Doesn’t really care for sweets. Thankfully, Eloise doesn’t take after her. That little girl loves them.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. Caroline picky? Really? That’s news to me. She told me she wasn’t picky about food at all…