Chapter 2195

At Jonathan’s words, a barely perceptible tremor crossed Nicholas’s face—gone as quickly as a ripple on still water.

Jonathan, ever observant, caught it and filed it away like evidence in a private case.

Nicholas set his cup down with deliberate care. “Jon, who told you I’m Dahlia’s father?”

Jonathan lifted his chin, his grin sharpening. “No one had to,” he replied, his words quick and precise.

Across the table, Elliot sensed tension humming beneath their calm voices, like a silent current beneath placid water.

He dropped his gaze and pushed scrambled eggs around his plate, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes. Why is Jonathan poking the bear?

Nicholas opened his mouth—to defend himself, perhaps to confess—but the sound of footsteps cut him off. Cecilia entered, Nathaniel close behind, ushering two smaller children with her. Dining chairs scraped softly as they took their seats.

For a brief moment, Nicholas studied the neat portrait of family across from him.

His gaze lingered, unreadable, before sliding away. The rest of breakfast unfolded under a veil of fragile silence, broken only by clinking cutlery and the faint rustle of napkins.

When the meal ended, Cecilia guided Jonathan and Elliot toward the car for school.

Felix appeared just then, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Miranda walked beside him, her hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. The two groups converged in the foyer.

“Ceci, what a coincidence,” Miranda said, surprise flickering before her practiced smile settled into place.

Cecilia returned the smile, polite and controlled. “Yes—quite the coincidence.”

Elliot and Jonathan chimed in together, “Morning, Miranda!”

Felix—hands stuffed into the pockets of a jacket two sizes too stylish for a grade-schooler—swaggered up beside Cecilia and gave a curt nod. “Morning, Aunt Cecilia.”

To a casual passerby, the scene could have passed for a postcard of domestic bliss: well-mannered nephews, an attentive aunt, spotless uniforms, and not a trace of rivalry in sight.

Miranda stepped closer to Cecilia, heels clicking sharply against the flagstones as they waited for the family driver.

Her lipstick-red smile never reached her eyes. She tilted her head, letting a strand of hair fall artfully across her cheek. “Ceci, have you signed up for the school’s parents’ association yet?”

Back in preschool, Cecilia had secured that coveted committee seat before Miranda had even found the application, forcing Miranda to smile through clenched teeth at every bake sale.

Now that the boys were in elementary school, the role mattered even more. Miranda—whose son had transferred only last year—was finally eligible.

Cecilia kept her tone light. “Work’s insane right now. Running Jamieson Group leaves no room for volunteer duties, I’m afraid.”

Besides, if money could spare her endless cupcake fundraisers and policy meetings, why wouldn’t she spend it?

Miranda tapped a finger against her phone and nodded thoughtfully. “True, true—you’re juggling Jamieson Group. Who could blame you? I’ve already applied, though. If Jon or Elliot ever need anything from the parents’ association, promise you’ll let me know.”

The sweetness of the offer left a metallic aftertaste. Miranda wanted Cecilia to remember exactly who would soon be whispering in every homeroom teacher’s ear—and who could complicate two little boys’ school days.

Cecilia heard the threat as clearly as if it had been carved into the marble steps.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

Times had changed. Cecilia now sat in the CEO’s chair at Jamieson Group and, more importantly, owned a significant block of the school’s shares. Even a parents’ association president couldn’t disrupt her children’s futures.

It was a shame Miranda hadn’t caught up. She still believed a committee badge could rattle Cecilia’s composure.

At last, a sleek black sedan rolled beneath the portico, its engine purring like a well-fed cat.

Miranda’s eyes lit up. She clasped Felix’s hand and hurried toward the rear door, the boy nearly jogging to keep pace.

The driver stepped out, cap in hand. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am—this car is for Jon and Elliot.”

Miranda froze mid-stride. The heel she had lifted in confident anticipation settled back onto the stone, a flush of embarrassment spreading beneath her foundation.

“Did they change drivers overnight?” she muttered, confusion overtaking her smile. The man before her was the same chauffeur who usually drove her and Felix to school.

“Mr. Marco has the day off,” the driver explained. “Madam Elena asked me to take Jon and Elliot first. Once they’re dropped off, I’ll come back for you and Mr. Felix.”