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Chapter_77
Quinn’s heart raced as she stood there, still reeling from the encounter with the crowd and Abigail’s unwavering resolve. Alexander’s presence seemed to amplify her feelings of inadequacy, his gaze a quiet accusation, a silent reminder of all that had gone wrong. His eyes flicked over her, a fleeting glance that made Quinn feel as though every wrong decision she’d made, every choice that had led to this point, was being laid bare before him.
His coat, dark and tailored to perfection, fell elegantly to his knees, almost a reflection of his aloofness. The air around him was charged with unspoken tension, and Quinn couldn’t help but avert her eyes, guilt heavy in her chest. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, her disheveled appearance and the emotions she’d tried to suppress now clear for him to see.
Abigail, too, seemed to shrink in the wake of Alexander’s presence, her once-defiant posture faltering as she stood beside Quinn. The conflict in her was palpable, and her usual sharpness had softened. She hadn’t said a word, but her silence spoke volumes—she knew what was coming. Her past encounters with Alexander had taught her how to navigate his moods, to stay calm, to avoid making things worse. But even she couldn’t hide the subtle tension in her frame as Oliver arrived to guide her away.
Oliver, always the composed figure, addressed Abigail quietly. “Haven’t you stirred up enough trouble? Let’s go home.”
Abigail didn’t resist. She cast one last, meaningful glance at Quinn, her eyes filled with both worry and gratitude. Then she was gone, leaving Quinn standing there with nothing but the oppressive silence between her and Alexander.
The air felt thick, suffocating. Alexander’s question about staying overnight barely registered in Quinn’s mind. His coldness had already set the tone, and she found herself standing shakily, her body tense, unsure of what to do or say. His words, his distance—everything about him was a reminder of how little she truly mattered in his world. She hesitated for a moment before following him, her steps slow, almost mechanical.
The ride in the car was an exercise in silence. Quinn couldn’t bring herself to speak. The anxiety gnawed at her, but there were no words that could bridge the chasm between them. She stared out the window, watching the city pass by, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t voice. What had she done? How had things gotten this far? Was there even any way to make it right?
When they arrived at the manor, the contrast between the cold, silent atmosphere in the car and the warmth of the house felt jarring. Juliet’s greeting, though filled with hesitance, was like a soft balm on Quinn’s raw nerves. The elderly woman, her movements slow but purposeful, wiped her hands on her apron before accepting Alexander’s coat. She was trying to mask her nervousness, but the tension was still evident in her stiff shoulders.
Alexander’s gaze shifted briefly to Juliet’s leg before his blunt observation cut through the air. “You’re the housekeeper Quinn hired?”
The words landed like a slap, harsh and unrelenting. Juliet froze, her face paling at the attention. Quinn immediately felt the sting of embarrassment, the weight of Alexander’s disapproval bearing down on them both. Juliet, her composure cracking, stammered, “Yes, that’s right. Don’t worry, I won’t let it interfere with my work.”
Quinn wanted to intervene, to soften Alexander’s words, but she couldn’t find her voice. She tugged at his arm gently, silently urging him not to be too harsh.
But it was no use. Alexander, already distant and sharp, ignored her silent plea. “You can’t even walk straight. How can you work? This is not a charity house. You’ve come to the wrong place.”
The words hung in the air like a cold wind, leaving Quinn paralyzed in place. Juliet’s face was a picture of quiet devastation, her eyes welling up with tears. Quinn’s heart ached for her. This wasn’t how she had imagined things. She had wanted to help, to offer Juliet a better life. But now, it felt like everything she had done was unraveling in front of her.
As Alexander ascended the staircase without a second glance, Quinn stood rooted to the spot, torn between her guilt and the desire to shield Juliet from further harm. Juliet’s voice, shaky but warm, broke through the silence. “Guess I won’t be making dinner tonight.”
The words hit Quinn harder than she expected. She moved quickly, wrapping her arms around Juliet in a gesture of comfort and regret. She shook her head, silently begging her not to go. “Wait for me.”
Juliet’s hesitation was palpable. “Never mind. I’ve grown accustomed to that little shack of mine. It’s okay, I’ll head back.”
Tears welled in Quinn’s eyes, and she could feel the weight of her failure pressing down on her. She gestured once more, her silent plea impossible to ignore. “Wait for me.”
But there was no time to dwell on the situation, no time to reflect on the pain she was causing. With one last glance at Juliet, Quinn turned toward the stairs, the familiar ache of responsibility growing inside her.
She stood before the study door, her hand trembling as she knocked lightly. The door creaked open, revealing Alexander standing near the window, phone pressed to his ear. His posture was relaxed, yet the storm outside reflected the storm brewing inside her. She couldn’t escape the feeling that things were spiraling further and further out of her control.
This chapter heightens the tension between Quinn and Alexander, bringing Juliet’s presence into the mix and adding another layer of complexity to Quinn’s sense of guilt and responsibility. The stark contrast between Quinn’s protective instinct for those she cares about and Alexander’s dismissive attitude creates a palpable sense of emotional conflict.
