Chapter 141

~ Annie ~

The drive back to the estate had been quiet, the city lights blurring past the car windows as I replayed every moment of the afternoon with Clinton in my mind. When he finally pulled up to the mansion and I stepped out, the cool evening air brushed against my skin, but it did little to settle the swirl of emotions inside me. I waved goodbye, watching his taillights disappear down the long driveway before turning toward the grand entrance.

The moment I stepped inside, my mother was waiting at the bottom of the sweeping staircase, arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face.

"So how was the date?" she asked before I could even take off my shoes.

"What the fuck, Mom!" I jumped, clutching my chest as my heart raced from the sudden ambush.

"Can you stop swearing?" she squinted at me, though her tone held more amusement than scolding.

"Sorry," I muttered, catching my breath. "But don’t tell me you’ve been standing here waiting for me the entire time I was out."

"As soon as I saw Clinton’s car pull up in the driveway, I decided to wait right here," she shrugged, completely unapologetic. "So... how was it?"

"It was good," I said simply, slipping off my heels. "The restaurant looked really fancy—beautiful art on the walls, great view of the water."

"He didn’t say anything like ’I love you’ or anything related to that?" she pressed, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"He said something related to that," I shrugged, avoiding her gaze as I started up the stairs.

"So you didn’t have fun?" she asked, following a few steps behind.

"I did," I insisted, pausing on the landing. "It was nice. Really nice."

"You look... disappointed," my mother observed gently, her voice softening.

"Not really," I sighed, leaning against the banister. "Maybe because Clinton didn’t fully admit his feelings for me. He seemed a little distracted the whole time—like his mind was somewhere else."

"Maybe he’s just busy right now," she reassured me, reaching up to squeeze my arm. "Don’t worry, he’ll come around. Give him time."

"But why didn’t he come inside for the tacos?" she frowned, changing the subject slightly.

"He couldn’t stay," I explained. "He told me to tell you he’s sorry he missed them."

"Bummer," she sighed dramatically. "Well, do you want the leftover tacos for dinner?"

"Nah, I’m good, Mom. I’m actually pretty full."

I glanced up the stairs toward my old bedroom, then turned back to her. "What about Uncle Dorian? Is he around?"

"He’s in his study," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Nothing... just wanted to know," I said, offering a small smile before heading upstairs. Halfway up, I paused and came back down a few steps. "What exactly was the misunderstanding he had with his father? The one they can’t seem to sort out and reconcile?"

"It’s better not to talk about it," my mother said carefully. "It’s up to both men to come together and try to resolve it."

"I really need to know what caused it," I sighed, frustration creeping into my voice.

"Me too," she admitted quietly, then gave me a gentle look. "But some things are better left between fathers and sons."

I sighed again, the weight of unanswered questions pressing on me. "Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," she called after me.

When I reached my old bedroom—the same room I had left years ago for college—I collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh. The familiar scent of lavender from the linens wrapped around me like an old friend. I was already planning to move out soon and open my own art studio in Brooklyn. The thought of having my own space felt exciting, but right now my mind was tangled elsewhere.

I pulled my phone from my purse and decided to call my sister, Ayanna. We hadn’t spoken properly since I arrived in New York. She picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, Annie," her soft voice greeted me warmly.

"Hey," I replied, smiling despite myself.

"You didn’t tell me you guys reached New York," she teased lightly.

"Sorry, my bad," I apologized with a small laugh.

"It’s alright. Mom told me though," she said. "So how’s everything?"

"Good... New York still feels the same, but I got homesick. That’s why I came back."

We talked for a while about her wedding preparations. Ayanna sounded both excited and exhausted.

"It’s exhausting," she sighed. "I never knew wedding planning could be this stressful."

"Sorry," I chuckled. "How far have you gotten?"

"The flowers are picked, Ethan and I went cake tasting yesterday and chose red velvet."

"Good choice. I thought it would be chocolate though."

"Chocolate would’ve been nice, but Ethan doesn’t like it," she explained.

We continued chatting about the details—his sister Sophia, the famous pianist who had offered to play at the wedding, the breakfast with his parents, and how lucky Ayanna felt to be marrying into such a successful family. Her happiness radiated through the phone, and I smiled, genuinely happy for her.

"Wow, Ayanna, you’re very lucky to be part of that family," I told her.

"Yeah, every day I’m grateful. Ethan couldn’t love me any less. I love that man so much."

As she spoke, a small, sad smile touched my lips. My sister was loved by a man who genuinely respected and adored her. But what about me? Did Clinton genuinely love me the way I loved him, or was I just chasing echoes of our teenage feelings?

"Are you there?" Ayanna’s voice snapped me back to the present.

"Oh, yes—I’m here," I said quickly.

"Okay, so what’s up with you? How’s Clinton? And Uncle Dorian?"

"They’re both good," I said simply, not wanting to dive deeper.

"What about Mom?"

"She’s good too."

I heard faint whispering outside my bedroom door and tried to ignore it, but the sound persisted—low, secretive voices that made me curious.

"I’ve got to go prepare for bed," I told her. "I’ll call you tomorrow."

"You promise?"

"I cross my heart and hope to die," I said with a laugh.

"Okay. It’s not night here yet, but goodnight."

"Goodnight, Ayanna. I love you."

"I love you too."

The call ended, and I crept to my door, opening it softly. Peeking out, I saw Uncle Dorian’s henchman, Kieran, standing a few feet away, talking quietly on his phone. His voice was barely above a whisper, the words impossible to make out, but the way he kept glancing around made it clear he didn’t want anyone to hear. When he finished the call and pivoted in my direction, I quickly closed the door, heart racing.

"What was that all about?" I whispered to myself.

I shrugged it off, telling myself it was none of my business, and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and shower. After changing into comfortable pajamas, I got a text from Clinton saying he had gotten home safely. I smiled, warmth spreading through me. At least he had remembered to let me know.

I climbed into bed, the soft sheets welcoming me, but sleep didn’t come easily. My mind kept replaying the afternoon with Clinton—the laughter, the easy conversation, the way his eyes had lingered on me. Yet beneath it all lingered a quiet doubt. He liked me...maybe even loved me in his own way. But something felt off, like his heart wasn’t fully in it.

Still, I held onto the hope that time would bring clarity. For now, I closed my eyes and let the events of the day slowly fade, the mansion around me quiet except for the distant, mysterious whispers that had already slipped from my thoughts.