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Chapter_89
Quinn’s thoughts continued to swirl, each one more confusing than the last. She had thought, perhaps foolishly, that Alexander might offer some semblance of understanding, some acknowledgment of the pain she carried. But as his actions played out, it seemed he was more detached than she could have imagined. His indifference cut deeper than any words he could have spoken. She had sought some form of validation from him—whether he understood her or whether he would show any kind of empathy. But instead, he had chosen to turn away, leaving her with nothing but the ache of his silence.
The recollections of her past at the Kennedy Residence weighed heavily on her heart. For two decades, Quinn had wandered within its walls, never truly part of the family, always standing just outside its core. The mystery of her origins, the absence of a past before Ulysses, had always made her feel like an outsider, an enigma who never quite belonged. The sense of alienation grew with each passing year, as her connection to the Kennedys was defined not by love or loyalty, but by something colder—a sense of duty, perhaps, or obligation.
The bitterness of her thoughts lingered long after she had retreated to her room. The shower provided little relief, its warm water unable to wash away the weight she carried. The memories of her early days with the Kennedys, the quiet acceptance of a role she never fully chose, resurfaced with startling clarity. It felt like a lifetime spent in the shadows, always watching, never truly seen.
Meanwhile, at The Cube, the world around Alexander and Oliver was a stark contrast. The flashing lights, the rhythm of the music, and the carefree movements of the dancers stood in sharp opposition to the heavy tension in the air. Spencer’s antics with the microphone, though seemingly out of place, highlighted just how disconnected they were from the chaos of their surroundings. It was as if the real battle was not happening on the dance floor, but in the subtle exchanges of power and information between the men seated at the VIP table.
Oliver’s words were laced with intent, speaking of an issue that Alexander had already been aware of. The quiet threat in Oliver’s voice underscored the urgency of the situation. The targets on Alexander’s back had shifted, no longer limited to logistics but extending into tech development. It was a personal attack, one that threatened not only the Kennedy family but also their allies. The Vanderbilt family was now drawn into this web, the consequences of their involvement uncertain.
Oliver’s attempt to extract information from Alexander was a calculated move. He needed something from him—perhaps to make up for the blows the Vanderbilt family had suffered in the wake of their dealings with Abigail. But Alexander, ever the strategist, remained composed, his casual demeanor masking the careful thoughts running beneath the surface. He had already pieced together the situation. The mention of Walter’s outsourced project was a key detail. Thalia Corp, despite being under Freya’s name, was intricately linked to the Kennedy Enterprise. Any attempt to target that would be more than a personal vendetta—it would be a direct challenge to the heart of the Kennedy legacy.
As the pieces of the puzzle slowly came together, Alexander’s eyes narrowed with focus. The game had shifted, and he needed to move with precision. Oliver had given him a thread to pull, but Alexander knew that unraveling it would take more than just answering the question at hand. There was a deeper game being played, one that would require all of his strategic acumen to navigate.
But as he sat back, the cool light of the lighter flickering in his fingers, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Quinn’s earlier words had been a silent plea for something he wasn’t ready—or perhaps willing—to give. The complicated web of family dynamics, loyalty, and ambition had never been more tangled, and yet, in the midst of it all, it was Quinn’s face, her uncertainty, that lingered in his mind.
