Chapter 87

Alexander Hamilton's fingers traced the phone screen absently. His frown deepened.

"Annabelle, our issues can't be solved by taking a few days apart."

Her light laughter floated through the receiver. "Miss me already?"

"Mother hasn't been well. I want to spend more time with her."

"Oh?" Annabelle's voice turned icy. "Just you?"

"Yes."

"What about Dr. Carter?"

"She has her own life."

The answer seemed to please her. "Good boy. But Alexander, don't let me catch you with another woman."

His laugh was bitter. "I don't even have female assistants at the company anymore. What more do you want?"

"That ex-wife of yours," Annabelle purred, "until those divorce papers are signed, I won't sleep easy. You know how I hate people touching what's mine."

"Don't you dare—"

"Scared?" She chuckled. "Behave, and she stays safe. Otherwise..."

"Annabelle!"

"I'll ruin her reputation!" Her voice spiked suddenly. "Actually, I'll have my driver bring me over now. As your future mother-in-law, I should visit dear Margaret when she's ill."

Alexander shot to his feet. "She needs rest!"

"Don't worry, I'll be quiet." Triumph laced her words. "Seeing her grandchild might improve her condition."

"You—"

The line went dead.

He hurled the phone onto the couch, knuckles whitening.

"She's coming?"

Margaret Hamilton stood at the stairwell, pale-faced.

"Mother..." His voice cracked.

"Auntie Marry!" Margaret called sharply.

"Yes, ma'am?" The housekeeper rushed from the kitchen, flour dusting her hands.

"Pack our bags. We're going to a hotel."

"Now?" Auntie Marry glanced at the clock. "It's nearly nine—"

"Throw out the soup." Margaret's tone turned glacial. "We're making space for our... guest."

Understanding dawned when Alexander muttered "Miss Taylor." Auntie Marry's expression darkened.

"I'll pack immediately!" She fumbled with her apron. "Ten minutes, ma'am!"

"Just bring essentials." Margaret massaged her temples. "The sooner the better."

"Yes, yes!"

Silence swallowed the living room.

Alexander watched his mother's frail frame, throat working. "I'm sorry..."

Margaret didn't turn. Just shook her head slowly.