No flowers for the dead - Chapter 24: Chapter 24
You are reading No flowers for the dead, Chapter 24: Chapter 24. Read more chapters of No flowers for the dead.
The first time Alina missed a meeting, no one panicked.
The second time, Elias noticed.
She was seated in the library, fingers buried in an old book of poetry she’d read a dozen times. Her tea had gone cold. She didn’t look up when he entered, but he could tell — something was shifting.
“Everything alright?” he asked, his tone soft but knowing.
She closed the book slowly, her expression unreadable for a moment before it softened.
“I think I’m ready for something different.”
⸻
The words lingered.
She wasn’t talking about leaving him. Not about running.
She was talking about life.
About not letting her entire identity orbit around boardrooms and control and constantly proving she belonged in a world that once refused to let her in.
Elias didn’t ask what she meant.
He just nodded. “Then we build something different.”
⸻
That something different started small.
She stepped down from three advisory roles.
Refused a major acquisition offer.
Turned down interviews, panels, publications wanting to name her one of the most powerful women in business.
Power was never the goal.
Peace was.
⸻
She began writing full-time. Novels. Characters full of blood and fire and softness. The world called it fiction. Elias knew it was memory.
Meanwhile, he quietly merged two arms of the company and handed oversight to someone younger—someone who didn’t look like him, didn’t sound like his father. Someone who’d earned it without needing to survive a war to prove they belonged.
It was legacy, but rewritten.
⸻
They started spending more time outside the city.
In a small villa near the coast, Alina painted. Elias rebuilt furniture with his hands.
They made friends who didn’t care about their last names.
They planted things.
Tomatoes.
Lavender.
A tree that leaned too far left and had to be tied with string.
⸻
It wasn’t the life they were raised for.
It was better.
Because for the first time, their love didn’t feel like a rebellion.
It felt like a home.
⸻
And on a quiet Wednesday morning, as they stood barefoot on the garden path, Alina took his hand and placed it gently on her belly.
She didn’t have to say the words.
Elias just stared at her, stunned, the morning sun cutting through his expression.
Then he knelt. Pressed his forehead to her stomach.
“I swear,” he whispered, voice breaking, “this time I’ll protect everything.”
She cupped his face, kissed his crown, and said the only thing that mattered:
“We already are.”
The second time, Elias noticed.
She was seated in the library, fingers buried in an old book of poetry she’d read a dozen times. Her tea had gone cold. She didn’t look up when he entered, but he could tell — something was shifting.
“Everything alright?” he asked, his tone soft but knowing.
She closed the book slowly, her expression unreadable for a moment before it softened.
“I think I’m ready for something different.”
⸻
The words lingered.
She wasn’t talking about leaving him. Not about running.
She was talking about life.
About not letting her entire identity orbit around boardrooms and control and constantly proving she belonged in a world that once refused to let her in.
Elias didn’t ask what she meant.
He just nodded. “Then we build something different.”
⸻
That something different started small.
She stepped down from three advisory roles.
Refused a major acquisition offer.
Turned down interviews, panels, publications wanting to name her one of the most powerful women in business.
Power was never the goal.
Peace was.
⸻
She began writing full-time. Novels. Characters full of blood and fire and softness. The world called it fiction. Elias knew it was memory.
Meanwhile, he quietly merged two arms of the company and handed oversight to someone younger—someone who didn’t look like him, didn’t sound like his father. Someone who’d earned it without needing to survive a war to prove they belonged.
It was legacy, but rewritten.
⸻
They started spending more time outside the city.
In a small villa near the coast, Alina painted. Elias rebuilt furniture with his hands.
They made friends who didn’t care about their last names.
They planted things.
Tomatoes.
Lavender.
A tree that leaned too far left and had to be tied with string.
⸻
It wasn’t the life they were raised for.
It was better.
Because for the first time, their love didn’t feel like a rebellion.
It felt like a home.
⸻
And on a quiet Wednesday morning, as they stood barefoot on the garden path, Alina took his hand and placed it gently on her belly.
She didn’t have to say the words.
Elias just stared at her, stunned, the morning sun cutting through his expression.
Then he knelt. Pressed his forehead to her stomach.
“I swear,” he whispered, voice breaking, “this time I’ll protect everything.”
She cupped his face, kissed his crown, and said the only thing that mattered:
“We already are.”
End of No flowers for the dead Chapter 24. Continue reading Chapter 25 or return to No flowers for the dead book page.