Chapter 16 - Whispers on the WindSix months after Eleanor Sterling’s conviction, the quiet coastal town of Montauk felt like an entirely different world. The salt air had replaced the stifling smell of polish and old marble. For the first time in five years, Noah wasn't living behind bulletproof glass and endless security rotations.
He was sitting at the wooden kitchen counter, swinging his legs, vigorously spreading peanut butter onto a slice of toast while I watched him with a smile that felt completely natural now.
"Mommy," Noah said, squinting his eyes in deep concentration as he worked the plastic knife. "When I go to the new school tomorrow, do I tell them my name is Noah Sterling, or Noah Vance-Sterling?"
My breath hitched slightly—a instinctual reflex leftover from the months of hiding. I smoothed down my soft cardigan and sat on the stool beside him.
"You can use whichever name makes you feel strongest, sweetie," I said softly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind his ear. "Your daddy and I love both."
"I like Noah Vance," he decided, taking a massive bite of toast. "It sounds like a superhero."
"A very sticky superhero," Alexander’s deep voice echoed from the hallway.
He walked into the kitchen wearing a faded grey hoodie and jeans, holding a stack of morning mail. He looked younger without the tailored black suits and sharp, unyielding posture he used to wear like armor in the boardroom. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of my head before tossing the mail onto the butcher-block counter.
"Any news from the city?" I asked, eyeing the letters.
Alexander’s eyes darkened slightly, though he kept his tone light for Noah. "The Sterling Enterprises board approved the funding for Claire’s pediatric clinic yesterday. The transition is ninety percent complete."
"And Eleanor?" I whispered, making sure Noah was too focused on his toast to hear.
"Her lawyers filed another appeal based on her health," Alexander replied, his voice dropping into a low, firm register. "The judge threw it out within an hour. She stays in prison, Emma. She can't touch us anymore."
He picked up a heavy, cream-colored envelope from the bottom of the stack—one that stood out from the rest. It bore no return address, only my name written in sharp, familiar calligraphy.
My stomach dropped. I recognized that handwriting instantly. It belonged to Victoria Royce—the woman who had been raised to believe she was Noah’s mother, the woman whose broken heart had set Eleanor’s dark plan into motion five years ago.
"Victoria," I murmured, my fingers trembling as I took the envelope.
"Do you want me to throw it away?" Alexander asked, his hand instantly resting over mine, protective and steady.
May you like
I looked at Noah, who was now laughing at the puppy chasing a sunbeam across the linoleum floor.
"No," I said, drawing a long, quiet breath. "She deserves to be heard. We both survived Eleanor, Alexander. In different ways."
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