"You're Liam's mother, so I'd prefer not to resort to drastic actions. But test my patience, and I won't hesitate to forget our past."

Amy watched as Alexander's expression darkened, but instead of fear, a knowing smile curved her lips.

"See? Just the mention of Victoria sends you into a frenzy. Alexander, you can't have everything your way."

"If you refuse the divorce, fine. But from this moment on, you are forbidden from seeing or contacting Victoria—ever again. Not even if..."

She paused, her crimson lips parting slightly. "Not even if she's dying. You won't be there."

Alexander's eyes narrowed, a storm of icy rage brewing in their depths.

"Amy, do you truly want to wage war with me over this?"

Her voice remained steady. "I suppose Mr. Blackwood isn't willing to compromise. Very well. We'll see how this plays out."

She stepped past him, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

This time, Alexander didn’t stop her.

Amy stopped concerning herself with Liam’s hospital visits, and Alexander no longer called her.

A week later, when Oliver returned from school, he tugged at her sleeve. "Amy, Liam came to school today. Mr. Blackwood and that awful woman brought him."

Amy’s hands stilled over the stove.

She used to suggest picking Liam up together—little surprises to brighten his day. Alexander always shut her down with the same cold dismissal: "Not now. You go."

Since Liam started at Westwood Academy, Alexander had never once accompanied her.

Now, he was there with Victoria every single time.

It wasn’t about time. It was about who mattered.

Lately, she’d stopped picking Oliver up herself, avoiding the painful sight of Alexander, Liam, and Victoria together.

She worried Oliver might be hurt, so she tested the waters carefully. "Oliver, how about we let Gregory take you to school for a while? I have some things to handle."

Oliver had nodded without hesitation, his understanding almost heartbreaking. "It’s okay, Amy. You have your piano recitals and you take care of me all the time. You should rest."

His thoughtfulness made her wish, not for the first time, that he were her own son.

"Amy." Oliver hesitated, then looked up at her with hopeful eyes. "There’s a talent show at school this weekend... Dad’s away on business, so he won’t be there... Could you come with me?"

Amy crouched to his level. "What kind of talent show?"

"The teacher said it’s for kids and parents to perform together—playing piano, singing, or dancing." His big eyes shimmered with quiet longing. "I didn’t join last time, and I didn’t get any points for the parent activities. If I skip again..."

His small shoulders slumped. "I’ll definitely be last in the rankings this term."

Royal Oaks Academy wasn’t like ordinary kindergartens. These were heirs to empires, groomed for excellence from the cradle. Competitions were frequent, rankings ruthless.

Oliver had just transferred. Missing one event was forgivable—but two? He’d be at the bottom. No child wanted that.

Amy studied his downcast face, then gently ruffled his hair.

"Then we’ll go. And we’ll make sure you shine."