Sealed : The Alpha King's Return

CH 12 Seating Chart

Patricia arrived exactly on time. That alone was a warning. Patricia was never on time for anything she thought was beneath her, she believed punctuality was something other people owed her, not something she owed anyone else. If she arrived late, people waited. If she arrived early, people would get nervous.

So when she stepped into Beatrice’s office at the exact minute she said she would, Beatrice knew this meeting mattered to Patricia enough to be worth the effort of being punctual.

“Darling.”

Patricia swept in wearing a coat that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Her perfume reached the room before she did, expensive, carefully chosen, and lingering in the air as she moved toward Beatrice.

She leaned in and air kissed Beatrice’s cheek without actually touching her.

It was the kind of greeting that looked affectionate but felt rehearsed, like a performance instead of real warmth.

“You look tired,” Patricia said.

Beatrice kept her expression neutral.

“Are you sleeping?” Patricia continued. “You should really see someone about that.”

“I’m fine, Patricia,” Beatrice replied, gesturing to the chair across from her desk. “What can I do for you?” Patricia smiled.

There was nothing wrong with the smile which was exactly the problem. Patricia had a smile for everything: birthdays, funerals, business meetings, arguments, bad news, good news. Beatrice had spent enough years around her to know the smile itself meant almost nothing.

“Can’t a mother simply visit?” Patricia asked, settling into the chair with the calm confidence of someone who had never once considered the possibility of not being welcome.

Beatrice looked at her. “You’re not my mother.” Her voice was mild, almost casual.

They had this same exchange so many times it felt worn into their conversations. Old arguments could become strangely familiar, even when they never solved anything.

“But you’re welcome to visit,” Beatrice said. “What’s the real reason?”

For the briefest moment, something shifted behind Patricia’s eyes.

Her smile didn’t change, but something in her expression adjusted like she was recalculating.

It always happened when Beatrice refused to play along with the family story for even one extra sentence.

“The Foundation Gala,” Patricia said.

She crossed one leg over the other. “ is next month.” Beatrice waited.

“I was thinking it might be time Gloria took a more visible role this year,” Patricia continued, there it was. Beatrice leaned back slightly.

“Introducing the keynote speaker, perhaps,” Patricia said smoothly. “She’s been working so hard lately, and I think the board would love to see the family’s next generation stepping forward.”

“Gloria doesn’t work here,” Beatrice said.

Patricia lifted her eyebrows. “She could.”

“If given the opportunity,” Patricia added, as if she were offering something generous.

Her tone was pleasant and almost gentle. But Beatrice knew better than to mistake gentle for harmless.

“You were given every opportunity at her age, Beatrice,” Patricia said calmly. “Your grandparents made certain of it.”

Something tightened in Beatrice’s chest.

She kept her face still.

“My grandparents built this company for forty years before I inherited a single share of it,” Beatrice said. Her voice stayed even, though it took more effort than she wanted Patricia to see. “I didn’t skip that part. I lived it.”

“Of course you did, darling,” Patricia said.

Her smile widened just enough to make it clear she found the correction slightly annoying not worth truly engaging with.

“I only mean that family should look after family,” she continued.

Then, as if she were stating a simple fact, she added, “Gloria is your sister.”

“Half sister,” Beatrice corrected quietly.

Patricia didn’t even blink.

“Family,” she repeated gently, like she was correcting a child’s grammar, “is family whatever fraction you’d like to assign it.”

Silence settled between them. Beatrice let it stay.

She had learned the power of silence in boardrooms long before she learned how to lead them. People who hated silence often rushed to fill it. They overexplained. They revealed too much. They gave away things they meant to keep hidden, but Patricia wasn’t like that.

Patricia had mastered the same game, she simply waited perfectly composed, perfectly, patiently expecting Beatrice to give in the way she usually did, because sometimes giving up a small thing costs less than fighting over it.

Beatrice looked down at the papers on her desk.

“I’ll think about the introduction,” she said.

It wasn’t a yes. But Beatrice already knew Patricia would hear it as a win.

“Wonderful,” Patricia said, standing.

Victory was already written into the way she held herself. She smoothed the front of her coat as if everything had gone exactly the way she planned.

“You really should sleep more, darling.”

Beatrice said nothing.

“You’ll want to look your best for the gala,” Patricia continued as she walked to the door. “First impressions matter so much in this family.”

She said it lightly,then left.

The door closed behind her Beatrice stayed still for several seconds, staring at the place Patricia had been standing, she couldn’t decide whether that final comment had been advice or a threat, with Patricia, it was rarely easy to tell the difference.

Beatrice had stopped trying to translate every sentence at that moment. It was exhausting, instead, she saved the translation for later, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The office suddenly felt too quiet, playing in her mind what had happened today. The gala,what Patricia said about her half sister and the board.

There was always another expectation waiting behind the one she had just survived, she opened her eyes without thinking, her fingers moved to her collarbone and found the pendant beneath her blouse, the moon silver crest. Her hand closed around it, the metal rested against her palm, she had worn it for as long as she could remember. Her grandmother had given it to her when she was little. Beatrice couldn’t remember the exact moment she first received it, she only remembered what her grandmother told her:It was a family piece, passed down.

Beatrice had believed that without question, it had always been part of her an old piece of history against her skin.

She rubbed her thumb over the crest, not thinking about anything in particular.

Then she paused, the metal felt different.

Warm. Beatrice frowned and lifted the pendant away from her skin to look at it.

Moon silver was supposed to feel cold. At least, it always had before, she touched it again, warm.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe her body heat had warmed the metal.

That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

She let it fall back against her collarbone.

For a moment, she felt something strange, something she couldn’t quite name.

Beatrice frowned again, then dismissed it.

She had too much work to do.

She reached for the next folder on her desk,picked up her pen and returned to work, forcing her attention back onto the documents.

Outside her office, the world continued as it always had, and Beatrice kept working.

Because that was what she always did, whatever came next, she would face it the same way she faced everything else: Spine straight, chin level, expression controlled. She just wish, her grandparents were still here with her.