Maverick's POV
After everything, we decided to chat a little while going through think that needed changes in the proposal.
Few minutes late a call came and Alex dismissed us with a nod, already reaching for his phone as we stepped out of his office.
Elizabeth was quiet, walking beside me with that same thoughtful look she wore after we left the mall — like her head was catching up with her heart.
We reached the elevator before she finally spoke.
"I want to see my aunt," she said.
It wasn't hesitant. It wasn't dramatic. Just… honest.
I glanced at her. "Today?"
She nodded. "I need to. I don't want her to hear about me in whispers or rumors. I want her to know I'm okay. That I'm… trying."
That last word held weight. Like it cost her something to admit.
I pressed the elevator button. "Then we'll go."
She looked up. "You don't have to come."
"Elizabeth," I said, "I don't have to do a lot of things. Doesn't mean I won't."
Her lips curved slightly — that almost-smile she never gave away for free.
"Okay," she said.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Elizabeth's POV
I hadn't seen Aunty Mara in weeks.
Not since before the accident. Not since the silence that followed. I hadn't called. I hadn't sent a text. I'd let the days pile up until they stopped feeling like guilt and started feeling like distance.
But today — after the glass-and-marble world of Noxzera, after being asked why I wanted to create Whisparé — I needed something real.
So I told Maverick I wanted to go.
And now we were here.
Her apartment hadn't changed. Still tucked on a quiet street with mismatched paint and potted herbs crowding the windowsills. Still smelling like ginger tea, Tiger balm, and the peace I hadn't let myself feel in too long.
I stood at the door, my hand hovering over the bell.
"I can wait in the car if you want," Maverick offered from behind me.
"No," I said, and rang the bell before I could lose my nerve.
Footsteps.
A pause.
Then the door swung open.
And there she was.
Aunty Mara — arms crossed, brows raised, mouth tight with the kind of expression only an aunt can manage: half judgment, half unconditional love.
"Well," she said. "Look who finally remembered I exist."
I opened my mouth.
No words came.
Then she pulled me into a hug — tight, fierce, shaking slightly.
And just like that, I was home.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Being wrapped in Aunt Mara's arms felt like being stitched back together — slow, invisible, but real.
After my parents died, she was the one who stayed.
When the company crumbled and the house went silent, she stepped in — no fuss, no speeches. Just action.
Penelope's parents had helped, yes. Especially her mom, in ways I didn't even realize until later. But it was Aunt Mara who took charge — who made sure I finished school, who filled my fridge, who reminded me to keep breathing.
And now, standing in her doorway after weeks of silence… I finally understood what it meant to come home after being lost.