Chapter 187.

Three days later:

The gates of the Sinclair estate opened before Christian’s car had fully stopped.

He didn’t wait for the security guard to approach.

He drove through.

The tires rolled over the long stone driveway, past the perfectly trimmed hedges and the rows of white roses his mother had always insisted were replaced before they could begin to wilt.

The Sinclair manor stood at the end of the road. Massive, old, and beautiful in the way expensive things often were.

Christian had grown up inside those walls.

He knew every corridor, every staircase, every painting, and every room that had once made him feel like a child living inside somebody else’s kingdom.

He also knew which doors his mother preferred closed.

The house had always felt permanent.

His grandfather had made sure of that.

He parked near the side entrance and stepped out. He didn’t tell anyone he was coming.

His mother had a way of knowing everything that happened on this property. He walked toward the garden, and he found her exactly where he expected.

She stood beneath one of the old orange trees, dressed in a jade linen blouse and fitted trousers, with a pair of gardening gloves covering her hands.

She reached up, plucked an orange, and turned it once in her palm. Then she reached for another.

A servant stood several feet away holding an empty porcelain bowl.

Christian watched for a moment. His mother plucked another orange, and the servant hurried forward.

She placed it inside the bowl.

His mother reached for another.

Christian’s jaw tightened. His grandfather had died three days before he knew.

Three fucking days.

She had stood in this garden while his grandfather was dying. She had slept peacefully.

Christian took another step forward.

His shoe scraped against the stone path.

His mother turned. Her expression didn’t change. Not even slightly. Her eyes moved over him with little emotions.

A servant rushed toward her with the bowl.

His mother dropped the orange into it. Then she looked at Christian again.

"The prodigal son returns." she taunts.

Christian stopped several feet away. His hands remained at his sides. "Don’t talk to me like this is normal."

She looked at him calmly. "Is something wrong?"

"You knew."

She tilted her head. "Knew what?"

"My grandfather died."

The faintest flicker crossed her face. Then it disappeared. "I know."

Christian stared at her. "And you didn’t tell me."

She removed one glove. Then the other. She did it slowly, and carefully. She handed them to the servant.

"Not here." she told him.

Christian’s voice hardened. "No. Here."

The servant lowered his gaze.

His mother looked at him. Her gaze sharpened. "You’re making a scene."

"My grandfather died."

Her expression remained cold.

"He raised me," he reminded her. "He was the only person in this family who ever made me feel like I belonged."

She didn’t look away. She didn’t even seem embarrassed. Instead, she said quietly, "You’re angry."

"I’m angry?"

"Yes."

"You’re right." He stepped closer. "I am fucking furious."

The servant shifted uncomfortably.

His mother glanced toward him. "Leave us."

The servant immediately bowed and walked away with the bowl of oranges.

Christian waited until the garden was empty. Then he looked at his mother. "You told them not to call me."

Her chin lifted. "I did."

"You deliberately kept me from him."

"He was dying." She shrugged. "He didn’t know who you were half the time."

"He was still my grandfather."

"He was sick."

"He was still my grandfather!" He raised his voice at her.

His mother sighed, as if bored. "You’re emotional."

Christian stared at her in disbelief. "I’m emotional?"

"You’ve always been dramatic when you’re hurt."

His mouth fell slightly open. He couldn’t believe her. "Do you hear yourself?"

"I hear you."

He shook his head. "You are insane." He said under his breath, and then he took another step. "You don’t hear anything."

She folded her arms proudly. "I did what I thought was best."

"For who?"

Silence. She said nothing.

"For you?"

She remained silent.

"For him?"

Still nothing.

"For yourself?"

Her eyes narrowed.

Christian nodded slowly. "That’s what I thought." He looked away for a second.

His eyes burned.

He hated that she could still make him feel seventeen years old again. He hated that some part of him still wanted her to say she was sorry.

Just once.

His voice became quieter. He swallowed. "I would’ve at least said goodbye." The words came out barely above a whisper.

"You took that from me."

His mother looked back at him. "You’re making this about yourself."

Christian froze. "I’m sorry I stole your victim card this time."

Her expression hardened. "Be careful."

Christian stepped closer. "You should be careful." he clenched his fist.

Her eyes flashed. "You’re speaking to your mother."

"And you’re speaking to your son."

Chrustain’s expression changed. His voice hardened. "Why did you go to Kylie’s apartment?"

"She needed to understand something." his mother answered without hesitation.

Christian’s jaw clenched. "What did she need to understand?"

"That you are not serious. You play around with every woman."

He stared at her. "You went into her home to tell her that?"

"I went to protect you." She folded her arms across her chest. "I went there because you are behaving like a foolish boy."

"You insulted her."

"She needed to hear the truth."

"You dragged her mother into it."

His mother’s face remained composed. "She should learn that actions have consequences."

Christian stared at her. "What action?"

"She became involved with you."

His face hardened. "You don’t get to decide who gets involved with me."

"I am your mother."

"That doesn’t give you ownership of me."

Her eyes sharpened. "You are a Sinclair."

"I know."

"You carry this family’s name, and you have responsibilities." She struck out a leg, and her stance hardened. "You will marry."

Christian’s expression turned cold. "No."

Her jaw tightened. "You will."

"I said no. Are you deaf?"

"You are not going to throw away your future because some girl has made you emotional."

His eyes flashed with anger. "Don’t call her some girl."

His mother laughed quietly. "Look at you."

Christian said nothing.

"You sound like your grandfather."

That stopped him.

His eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

She smiled, "Dumb."

He stepped closer. "You don’t get to say his name like that and then pretend it means nothing."

"You’ve always worshipped him." she sighed. "Forget about your new woman." She looked toward the orange tree. "You want to know why I didn’t tell you your grandfather died?"

"Yes."

She turned back to him. "You want to know why I didn’t call you?"

"Yes."

"You want to know why I went to that girl’s apartment?" She held his gaze. "Then perhaps you should stop pretending you know this family."