"Didn't think you'd come, Pa," Thea said with a soft smile, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
Mr. Alfred chuckled as he approached. "When you request cookies and a conversation, miss, I'm legally bound. Tradition."
The Carrington garden had always been her sanctuary, not for its sculpted hedges or imported roses, but because it still felt… human. It reminded her of her mother.
Alfred settled onto the bench beside her with the slow grace of someone who had lived long and seen much. His silver cane leaned against the wood. His vest was buttoned to perfection. His hair, parted with ritualistic care.
Thea clutched the old Carrington tin between her fingers, its once-bright crest now dulled by years of hands that had reached into it before hers.
"Your almond ones," she said, handing him one like a childhood offering.
"My finest sin," he murmured, accepting it with a small bow of gratitude.
He took a bite.
"I heard," he said casually, licking a crumb from his thumb.
Thea's fingers tightened around the tin. "You did?"
He gave her a knowing look. "News travels around here like disease, child. And every last germ passes through me."
She let out a soft laugh, tinged with unease.
They sat in a silence broken only by the chirp of a bird and the gentle rustle of leaves. Then she asked, voice low and trembling, "Pa, what do I do?"
Mr. Alfred turned toward her, his eyes soft with years of unspoken wisdom. He had been here long before Thea or her sisters were born. Loyal not to Raymond Carrington's empire only, but to the children who had grown up in its cold shadow.
"He's asking you to prove yourself?"
She nodded. "Six months. No Carrington safety nets. We're to build something. Sustain it. Report to his office monthly. At the end… one of us gets a seat at the board."
"And the other?" he asked gently, though he already knew.
"Cut off. Entirely. No shares, no trust, no voice in the company."
Alfred released a slow breath and took another bite of his cookie. "And he told you this? Like it was just another acquisition deal?"
She gave a humorless chuckle. "You know him."
"That I do." He paused. "Your father built empires. But never learned how to raise hearts."
Thea blinked, startled.
Alfred offered a faint smile. "Just because I'm loyal doesn't mean I'm blind. You were always your mother's child. Gentle. Watchful. That man, he's all marble and steel. And your sister? She mirrors him like a blade."
"I'm not like them," Thea whispered. "Sometimes I feel like I don't even belong in that house."
Alfred studied her. "Then build the place where you do belong. This challenge isn't about wealth or legacy. It's about who you are when no one's watching."
Thea swallowed. Her gaze drifted to a patch of violets by the hedge, her mother's favourite. A memory came unbidden: her mother's laugh ringing through the garden as she spun Thea in circles, the scent of rose water in the air.
"I spent so long being quiet," she murmured. "Avoiding the spotlight. I thought maybe if I just… stayed out of the way, I'd find peace."
"And have you?"
She shook her head. "No. I've just felt… invisible."
He placed a hand over hers, warm and steady. "You have your mother's eyes. They see what others miss. But it's time the world saw you too, not as a Carrington. As Thea."
She looked up at him. "I don't even know where to begin."
"You begin where you are. What do you love?"
She hesitated. "Books. Strategy. Patterns. I like fixing things. Making sense of mess."
A touch of pride flickered across his face. "And what don't you love?"
"Pretending. Performances. Power plays."
"Then you're already ahead of most who chase the wrong things." He leaned back with a nod. "Seraphina we all know, will chase spotlight and spectacle. You? You'll build something that lasts. Not for applause, but because it's who you are."
She glanced at the cookie tin. "Do you think I can do it?"
"I've watched you carry grief that would've shattered most. You still lead with kindness. If that isn't strength, Miss Thea, I don't know what is."
The sun dipped behind the hedges, casting long shadows. Alfred cleared his throat.
"I have a friend," he said. "At a company that could use someone like you. They need a PR lead. Someone to manage a scandal."
She blinked. "Me? What company?"
"Arkos Biotech Pharmaceuticals."
Thea stiffened. "The one rumored to cause cancer in children?"
He nodded. "Yes. The very one."
She stared at him. "Dad was actually pleased when the scandal broke. Called it 'timely justice.' If he didn't have a hand in it, I'd be shocked."
They both laughed quietly, but the tension lingered.
"Do you think I can manage something like that?"
"You're Theadora Carrington," he said, offering her another cookie. "You can manage anything."
She took it, smiling faintly.
"And when you feel lost, come back here," he added. "We'll have cookies. I'll remind you who you are."
She looked at him. "You're more my father than he'll ever be."
Alfred didn't smile this time. His gaze drifted to the horizon, faraway and full of things he'd never say.
"I know. But he gave you his name. Make it mean something different."
They sat in silence as the garden dimmed around them.
For the first time in years, Thea Carrington didn't feel like a girl trapped in a legacy she didn't choose.
She felt… poised.
The room was quiet but for the soft rustle of papers and the occasional click of Jace Davis's pen. The blinds were drawn, slicing grey light across his desk. Jace liked his office still—like his thoughts. No clutter. No noise.
He sat at the center of it all, sleeves rolled and tie loosened, looking over the files of potential assistants for his upcoming trip to Switzerland. Logistics, research, PR. He needed someone sharp. Unshakable.
Jace was nothing if not thorough.
Most executives took HR's word for it. Not Jace. Trust was earned, not filed.
Margaret Lin: Fluent in three languages. Solid résumé. Former UN attaché. Next.
Adrian Wolfe: Too many job changes. A résumé riddled with red flags. No.
Then he opened the next folder. Eyes skimmed. Degrees. Work history. Internship credentials. Then, the background check.
His pen froze.
Name: Jane Hayes.
Mother: Fallon Hayes (née Morris). Former staff—Carrington Estate.
He leaned back slowly.
Carrington.
What the hell is a Carrington doing here?
He flipped back to the name. Not a Carrington. Jane Hayes. A name unfamiliar to him. But that one buried connection was enough to send a pulse through his chest.
He pulled up the digital employee registry. There she was. Jane Hayes. Alyssa Grant's assistant secretary. Columbia pharmacy student. Low clearance. Temporary hire.
But that wouldn't last.
A slow, thoughtful smile curved on his lips.
Raymond Carrington had ruined lives. And Jace had taken notes.
She wasn't just an assistant. She was a door someone forgot to lock.
Daughter of a house servant.
Possibly unaware. Possibly not.
Either way, she was leverage.
He circled her name in ink. "Let's see what secrets you didn't know you carried."
He buzzed his assistant. "Schedule a meeting with Jane Hayes from PR. Today. Lunchtime."
There was a beat of hesitation. "Jane Hayes from PR?"
A pause. The tapping sound of the computer could be heard as his assistant was trying to search.
"Sir, there's no Jane Hayes in PR. But there's one listed under the Research Division. Clinical Trials. She assists Alyssa Grant."
Jace's lips curved. "Yes. That one."
"I want to know who I'm working with. Especially for something... delicate."
He ended the call and tapped the folder once more.
This wasn't just business anymore.
This was personal.
And Jace Davis didn't waste opportunities.