Chapter 25
ALFIE
The simulation data blurs as I stare at the screen, the numbers twisting into meaningless patterns.
I adjust the pressure parameters again, watching as the calcium formations react.
Blues and greens ripple across the display—signs of chemical shifts that, on Europa, could mean the presence of microbial life.
A recipe for life itself, unfolding in miniature.
And yet, all I can think about is Tara.
A whole day since she last spoke to me. A whole day of telling myself this is better—better she’s angry than letting that smug bastard James back her into a corner. How the fuck was I supposed to stand by and do nothing?
My phone buzzes.
Drake.
I don’t want to answer but ignoring him has never made him disappear. I press the call button.
“What?”
“Someone’s grumpy,” he drawls, his voice thick with amusement. “Let me guess—trouble in paradise?”
I grind my teeth. “Did you need something?”
“Just checking in. Mother’s been worried.”
I snort. “Since when?”
“Oh, you know how she is. Always trying to... fix things.” A calculated pause. “Making problems go away.”
Every hair on my arms rises. “Drake. What are you talking about?”
“I assumed you knew. Since you guys are so close...” He gives a soft, knowing chuckle. “Mother thought she was being quite generous. A dream job, fast-tracked career, all very civilized. Not like when she had to buy off my Sarah in college. Remember that mess?”
Sarah.
My stomach turns. The girl Drake got pregnant. The girl my family paid off, then erased.
I’d tried to find her later, but she was just gone. Social media wiped. Phone disconnected. One more casualty of our family’s quiet, ruthless efficiency.
A cold fist tightens in my chest.
“What exactly did Mother offer Tara?”
“I’m not sure. Something about London.”
The world tilts.
That’s why she’s been avoiding me. Not just anger about James—this.
The offer. My mother’s intervention. Tara considering it.
I grip the edge of my desk so hard my fingers go numb. The memory of Tara’s voice, bright and so fucking sincere, burns through me. The way she’d defended my work. The way she’d fought for what she believed in.
And now she’s—
No.
I shoot to my feet. My chair slams into the wall behind me.
“Alfie—”
I end the call.
The simulation flickers on my monitor, irrelevant now. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, a drum of betrayal and panic.
Kinsey appears in the doorway, a stack of printouts in her hands. “The new pressure readings—”
“Not now.”
She hesitates. “But Professor Hammond said—”
“I said not now.”
The sharpness in my voice makes her flinch, and guilt crashes into me like a wave. I’m acting like them. Cold. Thoughtless. Treating people like they’re just pieces to be moved on a board.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. “I—just let me see it.”
Kinsey hesitates before handing over the papers. I scan them, the numbers barely registering.
Three days.
Three days of silence, where anything could have happened.
I slam the papers onto my desk and grab my keys.
“Where are you going?” Kinsey calls after me. “Professor Hammond needs those results—”
“Run it again,” I say over my shoulder. “All of it. From the beginning.”
I need to find Tara. I need to know.
Is she meeting with my mother right now? Sealing the deal?
Or is she already gone?
I push through the lab doors, the night air biting against my skin. My car is waiting, but as I reach for the handle, my hand freezes.
What am I doing?
I stand there, breath misting in the air, my fingers tight around the door handle. My pulse pounds, hammering out a truth I don’t want to face.
What if this is the best thing for her?
Not just the job—all of it. A chance to leave this mess behind. A chance to walk away from me.
I shut my eyes.
Tara has always deserved better than this. Better than my family’s interference. Better than the shadows and weight of the Spencers and everything that comes with being in my orbit.
Better than me.
Because the truth is—I hurt the people I care about.
I hurt Tara when I stepped in with James. I hurt Kinsey just now. I hurt everyone, over and over, because that’s what I’ve been taught to do.
Control. Manage. Solve problems.
Drake thinks I’m a hypocrite, but he’s wrong. There’s no hypocrisy in it. I’m just not any different from him.
From my mother.
From my father.
I swallow, but it sticks in my throat.
I was never good for her. I never have been.
It’s about letting her go.
And not just because I have to—because I should.
I lean my forehead against the car, the cold metal grounding me. My hands curl into fists at my sides.
I could still go to her. Still ask her to stay.
She might even say yes.
And that’s the worst part of all.
Because if I asked, she’d give up something for me. Not because she should. Not because it’s what’s best for her.
But because she cares.
And I can’t let her do that.
Not for me.
I push off the car, exhaling shakily.
For the first time since the call, the roaring in my head quiets.
I don’t start the engine. Don’t drive to her apartment.
I sink into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles ache.
Let her choose, a voice whispers. Let her have this. Let her go.