Alexandra POV:
The stretch Lincoln glided smoothly through the neon-lit streets of Los Angeles. Inside the cabin, a soft, classical cello piece played through the surround-sound speakers, filling the heavy silence.
I sat back against the plush leather seat, turning my face toward the tinted window. The city lights blurred past, bright and meaningless.
Across from me sat Jacob. My fifteen-year-old son was slouched in his seat, his head down, his thumbs flying across his phone screen in a frantic rhythm.
Beside him, Anthony was tapping on his iPad, casually reviewing the notes for his keynote speech. He looked entirely unbothered, perfectly comfortable in the lie he had built.
I pulled my gaze away from the window and looked at Jacob. A dull ache throbbed in my chest. I decided to make one last attempt. One final test of the maternal bond I had spent fifteen years nurturing.
"Jacob," I said softly. "How are your prep courses going at school? Are you keeping up with the reading list?"
Jacob didn't even lift his head. He let out a loud, mocking scoff. "Fine," he muttered, his fingers never stopping their rapid typing.
I leaned forward slightly. The angle of his screen shifted. In the glow of the phone, I caught a brief, clear glimpse of the chat header.
*Katia.*
My breath hitched. My fingernails bit into the expensive silk of my dress. Katia wasn't just his school counselor anymore. She had completely infiltrated my son's life, texting him at all hours, acting like his confidante.
I swallowed the sharp, jagged pain in my throat. I forced my voice to remain even.
"Put the phone away for a moment, Jacob," I said. "There will be several Ivy League board members at the Ritz-Carlton tonight. I need you to stand up straight and mind your manners."
Jacob's head snapped up. He rolled his eyes so hard his whole face contorted with disrespect.
"God, mom, you are so boring!" he snapped, his voice loud and grating over the classical music. "You're always obsessed with rules and posture. You're such a control freak."
Anthony finally looked up from his iPad. He frowned, but not at our son.
"Alex, relax," Anthony said, his tone dripping with that condescending peacemaker vibe he always used to undermine me. "Let the boy breathe. You don't need to be so strict all the time. He's a teenager."
Jacob smirked. He looked at his father, validating his disrespect, then looked back at me with a triumphant sneer.
"Yeah, mom," Jacob said loudly, making sure we both heard every word. "Ms. Katia says I have a highly creative mind. She says I shouldn't be boxed in by stupid, old-fashioned rules."
At the mention of Katia's name, Anthony's fingers twitched on his iPad. His eyes darted away, and he let out a loud, awkward cough to cover his sudden tension.
I watched the two of them. The cheating husband who funded the mistress. The ungrateful son who worshipped her.
The last flickering ember of warmth in my chest went out. It didn't burn. It just turned to cold, gray ash.
I didn't argue. I didn't raise my voice. I simply leaned back against the leather seat and folded my hands neatly in my lap. My eyes turned dead and flat.
Jacob thought he had won the argument. He let out a short, cruel laugh, looked back down at his phone, and started typing to Katia again.
I stared at the boy I had carried for nine months. The boy I had stayed up with through countless fevers, the boy I had tutored and loved with everything I had. He was gone. He had chosen the woman who was destroying our family, simply because she let him do whatever he wanted.
The temperature in the car plummeted. The classical music suddenly sounded like a funeral dirge.
Anthony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could feel the shift in my energy. He reached across the wide space and placed his hand over my folded ones.
"You really do look beautiful tonight," Anthony said, his voice dropping into that fake, deep register. "That dress is incredible."
I looked down at his hand resting on mine. I felt the physical urge to vomit.
I smoothly pulled my hands out from under his grip. "Careful," I said, my voice completely void of emotion. "You'll wrinkle the silk."
Anthony's hand hung in the empty air for a second. A flash of dark annoyance crossed his features, but he quickly pulled his hand back and adjusted his cuffs, masking his anger.
The intercom crackled. "Approaching the Ritz-Carlton, Mr. Sterling," the driver announced.
The Lincoln slowed down. Through the windshield, the blinding flashes of paparazzi cameras lit up the night like lightning. A massive crowd of media and elite guests swarmed the red carpet.
Jacob instantly dropped his phone into his pocket. He scrambled to the window, his eyes wide with desperate excitement, fixing his bowtie. He craved the spotlight just like his father.
Anthony locked his iPad, handed it to the driver, and rolled his shoulders. He plastered on his billion-dollar CEO smile, transforming into the perfect family man.
The heavy car door was pulled open by a white-gloved valet. The deafening roar of the crowd and the frantic clicking of cameras flooded into the silent cabin.
"The show is about to begin."
