Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 241

Chapter 241: Chapter 241

Elara’s POV

The roses stayed in the carriage.

I left them on the seat without looking back. Their scent clung to my fingers anyway—sweet, insistent, unwanted. I wiped my hands on my cloak as the palace gates swung open.

The old wing. Our old wing. The private residence we’d shared before everything shattered. I hadn’t set foot here in months. The corridors smelled the same—polished stone, beeswax candles, faint traces of cedar that made my chest ache if I breathed too deeply.

So I didn’t breathe deeply.

For the children. Only for the children.

I barely made it through the entrance hall before a small blur of silver hair launched itself at my legs.

"Mother!"

Lyra. My little sweetheart. She hit me at full speed, arms wrapping around my thighs, face buried in my skirt. Her entire body vibrated with excitement.

"Mother, you came! You really came! Valerius said you might not come, but I told him you would, I told him—"

I crouched down and pulled her close. She smelled like butter and chocolate and the faintest hint of burnt sugar. Flour dusted her dark lashes. A smear of frosting decorated her left cheek.

"Of course I came," I said. My voice held steady. Years of practice. "I wouldn’t miss it."

"Come see! Come see what we made!" She grabbed my hand and pulled. Her grip was surprisingly strong for her size. "Hurry, before the candles melt!"

She dragged me down the corridor and through the double doors into the family dining room.

I stopped.

A banner stretched across the far wall, pinned at crooked angles with mismatched tacks. The letters were enormous, written in waxy crayon strokes of red and gold:

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MOTHER AND FATHER

Paper flowers—cut unevenly, petals lopsided—hung from strings attached to the chandelier. The table was set with the good china, though the napkins were folded into shapes that defied geometry. Two candles burned in the center, already listing sideways in their holders.

Valerius stood by the window. His dark curls were freshly combed, his shirt tucked in with visible effort. He watched me with those gold eyes—his father’s eyes—and said nothing.

He was studying me. Measuring. Looking for cracks.

I smiled at him. Bright. Effortless. Absolutely false.

"This is beautiful," I said. "You both did all of this?"

"Lyra did the banner," Valerius said carefully. "I handled the table."

"The flowers were MY idea," Lyra announced, still bouncing. "Father helped hang them because I couldn’t reach, but I picked every single color myself."

Father.

My gaze drifted past her to the kitchen doorway, where Kaelen stood holding a steaming dish. He’d changed clothes since I last saw him. Clean shirt. Hair pushed back. But the hollows under his eyes remained, deep as bruises, and his hands weren’t quite steady.

He set the dish on the table. Vanilla roasted chicken. Golden-skinned, herbs scattered across the top. The aroma filled the room—warm, familiar, specifically mine.

My favorite.

He remembered. He always remembered.

"Sit, sit!" Lyra pulled out a chair for me with great ceremony. "Mother sits here. Father sits there. Me and Valerius in the middle."

A family. Arranged around a table like a portrait. Perfect and whole and completely, utterly hollow.

I sat.

The chicken tasted like cardboard. I chewed and smiled. Chewed and smiled. My jaw ached from it. Across the table, Kaelen ate almost nothing. He pushed food around his plate and watched the children with a raw, unguarded tenderness that made something twist behind my ribs.

Don’t. Don’t feel that.

"Mother, are you sad?"

Lyra’s voice. Small. Tentative. Her fork hovered midair.

"No, sweetheart. Why would I be sad?"

"Your eyes look sad."

"I’m just tired. It was a long day."

She considered this. Then she brightened. "Cake will fix it! Cake fixes everything. Right, Valerius?"

Valerius glanced between me and his father. That measuring look again. He was too old for his age. Too watchful. Too aware.

"Right," he said quietly.

Lyra disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying a cake on a wooden board. She moved with the exaggerated caution of someone transporting sacred treasure. Her tongue poked out in concentration.

The cake was lopsided. Chocolate, coated in white frosting that had been applied with more enthusiasm than skill. Pink icing formed an uneven border around the edges. On top, in shaky pink letters:

FOR MOTHER AND FATHER

"I did the writing myself," Lyra whispered. "The ’R’ is backwards but Valerius said you wouldn’t mind."

"It’s perfect," I said. The words scraped past something sharp in my throat.

She beamed.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify