Dinner had come and gone, and Alex—refreshed, fueled, and focused—was back in the study before the empty plates were cleared.
He had barely tasted the roasted duck breast or the garlic-butter asparagus. His mind had been somewhere else the entire meal, simmering with logic gates, predictive curves, data feed architecture, and asynchronous trading protocols.
The moment his plate was empty, he excused himself, returned to the study, and buried himself back into the world he was building—his financial dominion.
Time, once again, blurred.
The golden pendant light above cast a soft halo across the room, while the glow from his laptop screen reflected faintly in his silver eyes.
His fingers were a blur of speed and precision, guided by a rhythm only he understood. Command lines snapped open and shut. New layers were added to his algorithm.
Silent virtual tests ran in the background, feeding results to a separate dashboard for later refinement.
It was deep work. The kind that pulled your entire soul into it.
He didn't hear the clock chime once. Didn't feel the muscles in his back stiffen. Didn't notice the chill in the air that crept in through the half-open balcony door.
It wasn't until he heard the soft, deliberate knock and the steady voice that followed, that Alex's trance was finally broken.
"Young Master."
Alex blinked, hands slowing, before he turned toward the door. Alfred stood there in his perfectly pressed night butler attire—elegant, composed, and visibly concerned.
"You've been at this for far too long," Alfred said. "It's nearly 2 a.m. You should retire for the night."
Alex rubbed his eyes and let out a quiet yawn. "I lost track of time."
"I noticed," Alfred replied with a faint touch of humor. But his eyes—sharp and calculating as always—didn't leave Alex for a second.
Alex shut his laptop gently and stood up. His body groaned in protest as he stretched, his back cracking, his muscles tight.
He made his way to the door, but paused when he noticed Alfred falling in step behind him.
He glanced back, brows furrowed. "Alfred, is something wrong?"
The older man didn't answer right away. He seemed… hesitant. That alone was strange. Alfred never hesitated.
Finally, the butler said, "Not wrong, no. Just… different."
Alex slowed, turning to face him fully now. Alfred's expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual posture of discipline.
"You've changed, Young Master. These past two months, I've seen you wake early, train your body, eat well, and work hard. You haven't asked for alcohol. You haven't even allowed Natalie or Natalia to give you your… usual morning service."
Alex rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah. I figured that was… excessive."
Alfred's brows twitched, but he said nothing for a beat.
"You've ignored every party invitation. You haven't entertained even one of your… admirers. Not a single scandal. No noise. No destruction. No broken furniture. No women crying on the balcony." He tilted his head. "Forgive me for saying this, but… are you still yourself?"
Alex sighed. He knew this was coming eventually. The change had been too abrupt. Too sudden. For someone like Alfred—who had spent years cleaning up the original Alex's messes—it must have seemed like a spell, or a deep psychotic break.
"I'm fine, Alfred," Alex said softly. "More than fine. I just… had a wake-up call."
The older man didn't interrupt, watching carefully.
"One night," Alex continued, voice a little rough, "I had a moment. I saw my life flash before my eyes. Saw who I was. Where I was heading. And I realized—if I didn't stop, I was going to die. Not years from now. Not someday. But soon. Very soon."
Alfred's eyes flickered slightly. "So you've… turned over a new leaf?"
"I've burned the whole tree," Alex replied with a weak smile. "I'm done being the idiot everyone expects me to be. I want more than this life of waste and noise. I want something real. Something that's mine. Something I can build."
There was silence.
Alfred didn't speak for a moment, but his gaze softened. He took a slow breath, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope.
"Then… I'm proud of you, Young Master," he said quietly. "More proud than you can imagine. And I hope this change is permanent. For your sake. And for the legacy that still beats inside your veins."
Alex was quiet at first. But then Alfred added something that made him stop in his tracks.
"If things continue as they are… there's a high chance your father will call you back."
Alex turned sharply.
"What?"
Alfred gave a small nod. "Your father, Mr. Donovan Palmer, mentioned it once—quietly. He said if your behavior showed true change, he would consider reinstating you into the family."
Alex stood there, stunned. He hadn't thought of his father much. He hadn't wanted to. The memory of that cold voice, the dismissive eyes, the way he'd signed away his youngest son with a signature and a sentence…
He instinctively clenched his fists.
The muscle memory of the previous Alex kicked in—flashes of humiliation, of being laughed at by older siblings, of being called a stain on the family's legacy.
And now, just when he was beginning to build something of his own, they wanted to pull him back in?
"I don't want to go back," Alex said flatly.
Alfred blinked. "Young Master?"
"I mean it. I don't care what promises your report to the old man stirred up. I'm not going back into that viper pit. They abandoned me, Alfred. They washed their hands of me the second I became an inconvenience. Not that I blame them though. But not now... Not now that I'm quiet, useful, and maybe—just maybe—redeemable, they want to drag me back?"
Alex shook his head and resumed walking.
"No," he muttered. "I'm not ready to be a pawn in their power games again."
Alfred fell silent behind him.
He understood. He truly did.
The Palmer family was a titanic dynasty—sprawling, ancient, and ruthless. Being called back might sound like forgiveness. But Alex knew better.
It was never forgiveness. It was always strategy.
They'd only recall him if they had a use for him again. And Alex wasn't about to let anyone use him—not now, not ever again.
He reached his bedroom door and opened it, casting a glance back at Alfred.
"Thanks for being honest, Alfred. But if Father calls… tell him I'm not ready."
Alfred nodded once, slowly. "As you wish, Young Master. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Alfred."
The door closed softly behind him, shutting out the world.
Alex leaned against it, breathing deeply.
"Still… if Father's watching, that means others are too."
"Fuck conglomerate families and their internal competitions," he whispered, pulling off his shirt and heading toward the bed.
He had just begun. And they weren't taking that away from him.
Not now. Not ever.