Victoria's voice was sweet, her expression soft—the perfect image of innocence and charm. Beside her, Amy seemed rigid, aloof, and unapproachable.

But Amy saw right through the challenge and mockery laced in Victoria's words.

She lifted her gaze, catching the glint of triumph Victoria hadn’t bothered to conceal.

"Why is it so rare for Alexander to come home?" Amy countered, her tone sharp. "Because you, Ms. Langley, monopolize every second of his free time. Or are you pretending not to realize that?"

Victoria gasped, feigning shock as she reached for Amy’s hand. "Ms. Sinclair, please, that’s not what I meant at all!"

Amy didn’t let her finish. She pulled her hand away. "If you’re not playing dumb, then you’re just painfully unaware. Either way, it’s insufferable."

"Ah!" Victoria suddenly cried out, stumbling backward.

Before Amy could react, a tall figure stepped between them, catching Victoria before she fell.

"Victoria, are you all right?"

Victoria turned tearful eyes toward Alexander, looking every bit the wounded victim. "Alexander, I'm fine. Ms. Sinclair didn’t mean to. Please don’t be angry with her."

Alexander’s gaze flickered, finally noticing Amy standing there.

His expression darkened. "Amy, apologize to Victoria."

This wasn’t the first time. In the past, Amy would have immediately protested—"It wasn’t me," "Let me explain," "I didn’t do anything," "Please believe me."

But Alexander never listened. He always sided with Victoria, always demanded an apology.

If she refused, he’d freeze her out—ignoring her calls, leaving her messages unanswered, acting as if she didn’t exist. Eventually, even Liam would join in, leaving her isolated until she had no choice but to relent.

The memory made Amy laugh bitterly. "Why should I? Who do you think you are?"

Alexander blinked, as if he hadn’t heard her right. "What did you say?"

Amy met his gaze, her voice icy. "When I cared about you, your word was law. But now? You’re nothing to me."

Alexander stiffened. In all the years he’d known her, Amy had never spoken to him like this.

She had always been gentle, considerate—leaving the light on when he came home late, bringing him food when he worked through the night, making sure he had something warm to drink when he stumbled in drunk.

Even after Victoria’s return, though she had grown distant, she had never outright defied him. Never confronted him like this.

A strange irritation coiled in his chest.

Then, a small voice piped up. "Mom, you always say we should apologize when we’re wrong. So… shouldn’t you say sorry to Victoria?"