"Damn. Well, I did expect that," Max muttered, one hand on his hip as he paced the living room, his phone tucked between shoulder and ear.
From the hallway, Althea squinted. It was barely 9 a.m. and someone was already being sarcastic at full volume. Max sounded too casual. Too performative. That tone he used when pretending things didn't sting.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen, grabbed the milk carton straight from the fridge, took a sip, then reached for the bowl of strawberries she'd left on the counter last night. She popped one into her mouth, chewing slowly as she watched him from behind the counter.
Max, wearing sweatpants and a black tee, still looked like someone who had a direct hotline to mischief. His hair was a mess, and his expression? Too calm for someone who'd just said "damn" with that much flavor.
"No, it's cool," he continued on the call. "Seizing assets is a totally normal father-son bonding activity. I'll be sure to send a thank-you card."
Althea raised an eyebrow. Max caught her eye and offered a lazy salute. Then, into the phone: "Yeah. No, you tell him I said thanks. No really. Deeply honored. Nothing says 'we love you' like cutting someone off financially."
He hung up. There was a beat of silence.
"You want a strawberry farm?" he asked, like it was the most natural segue in the world. Althea stared. "What?"
"You're always eating strawberries," he said, walking past her to steal one from her bowl. "Figured I'd buy you a farm. You know. As a wedding gift. Or a truce offering."
She chewed slowly. "Is this your version of coping?"
"Yes," he said, deadpan.
"What happened?"
Max flopped onto the couch like the world's most exhausted rich boy. "My dad pulled the family bank account. All my legacy shares? Frozen. Card declined. Like I'm a college freshman who overspent on boba and bad decisions."
Althea blinked. "Wait. Seriously?"
"Very."
"But... isn't that the account that pays for your housing, your driver, your—?"
"Yup."
"You have a driver?"
"Had," he corrected.
Althea walked over slowly and sat across from him. "Are you, Max, are you going to be okay?"
He tilted his head. "Financially?"
She nodded, trying not to look like she was internally screaming. Because sure, they weren't in love, but being married to a bankrupt Velasco would be next-level scandal.
He smiled, a little amused. "I'm the CSO at Velasco Corp, remember? Chief Strategy Officer. I have a salary. A stupidly good one, actually. They pay me to think."
"And?"
"And," he continued, "I have investments. Some side properties. A stake in a streaming startup that hasn't flopped yet. So no, I'm not going bankrupt."
Althea exhaled. "Okay. That's... that's good."
There was a pause.
She narrowed her eyes. "What if your father comes after that next?"
Max snorted. "He's too strategic. If he freezes my salary or tries to oust me from the company, it goes public. Shareholders panic. The press gets a field day. Headline: 'Velasco Patriarch Throws Tantrum, Destroys Own Son's Career.'"
"Sounds accurate."
"Oh, absolutely. But he won't risk the PR blowback."
Althea stared at him. "How are you so calm about this?"
"I had coffee."
She frowned. "This is serious."
"I know," Max said, sitting up. "But I've had twenty-three years to emotionally prep for the possibility that my father would one day try to assassinate me with paperwork."
"And you're not... angry?"
"I'm never angry." he said lightly. Althea didn't laugh. Max leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You're worried."
"No."
"You are."
"No, I'm just trying to figure out whether I should buy a safe for my jewelry or just hide everything in Lilith's litter box."
"Litter box. No one dares touch it." They both smiled. Then the smile faded. And the silence lingered. Althea crossed her arms. "I'm living here."
"I know."
"And I don't like being the reason, the scandal wife, that you're dealing with these. I just want this to get better."
She looked away. "I want to know what I've stepped into."
Max leaned back again. "Hell. But with better lighting." That got a real laugh from her. Brief. But honest.
"It's just... I didn't expect to wake up one day and be married to the most complicated man in the country."
"Untrue," Max said, holding up a finger. "That would be my father. I'm only in the top three."
"Max," she said warningly.
He softened. "I get it. This wasn't your plan."
"It wasn't yours either."
They sat like that for a moment, staring at each other, knowing they were both right, both wrong, both just trying to survive a wedding no one fully agreed to.
Althea picked up the strawberry bowl again. "Can we at least agree on one thing?"
"Strawberries are the superior fruit?"
She rolled her eyes. "No. That you'll tell me next time your father declares financial war."
"Deal," he said. "But only if you promise to stop drinking milk from the carton." She took a long, dramatic sip from the milk carton without breaking eye contact.
Max groaned. "You're a menace."
"Temporarily." He blinked. Something flickered in his expression, but whatever it was, he swallowed it down before it could surface.
Althea stood up with a sigh. "Alright, I'm going to go yell into a pillow for ten minutes. Then maybe I'll write a passive-aggressive letter to the Velasco family."
"Make sure to use nice stationery," he called as she walked away.
Max watched her go. Watched the swing of her ponytail, the soft shuffle of her slippers. Watched the space she left behind.
Then he looked at Lilith, who stared at him with the icy disapproval of a judgmental duchess. "What?" Max muttered. "It's not like I can tell her. She'll bolt."
Lilith blinked slowly. "I know, I know," he grumbled, rubbing his temples. "It's pathetic." She meowed once and jumped off the couch, tail flicking like she'd heard enough.
End of Chapter 29.