Chapter 266

Serena's POV

I froze, thinking I had misheard. When I looked up at him, I saw the weariness in his eyes, that resigned acceptance of life's cruel turns. Though Howard was in his seventies and confined to a wheelchair, he had always maintained an image of vitality and natural authority, elegant yet commanding. I never imagined I would see him defeated by life - I had always believed that even as time aged his body, his spirit would remain undiminished.

"Milo and Stella will live with you from now on," he repeated.

"And what about you?" I couldn't refuse, nor did I want to. I knew Howard wouldn't have made this decision without careful consideration.

"I... it's time for me to let go," I heard him say heavily. "I wanted too much, demanded too much. Everything in the Harrington family has developed according to my vision. I've been autocratic for so many years, yet it hasn't brought any good fortune. Perhaps I was wrong from the very beginning."

Watching this once-powerful patriarch speak such words, I understood he had truly surrendered to fate. He had given up the fight, broken by too many devastating blows.

He continued: "When Lucas's parents died, I was the one who insisted they travel abroad for that business deal. If it weren't for me, they wouldn't have met with that accident." I saw his aged eyes grow slightly red. "Later, when Jace had that terrible car accident, it was my stubborn refusal to accept his relationship with Eleanor that drove him away. If I had set aside my prejudices and convinced Clara, if I had allowed Eleanor to stay with the family despite our history, Jace would have remained with us, and perhaps many tragedies could have been avoided."

"Jace's accident couldn't have been your fault..." I tried to comfort him.

But he just shook his head, taking all the blame upon himself.

"And now there's Lucas. If I hadn't forced him to marry Rachel Thorne, if I had supported him instead, he wouldn't have taken such extreme measures to break off the engagement."

I didn't know how to console him. The Howard before me seemed truly crushed by life, aging decades in a single moment.

"I will be going abroad to stay with Jace during his treatment. Only Clara and Maeve will remain here. I'll hand over many company responsibilities to Clara, though she may not be capable of managing everything... her heart was never in the business." He spoke with detachment. Looking at the vast Harrington enterprise, he seemed no longer to care about its fate.

"If she can't keep it together, I'll sell the company. Without such a prominent name, without all the glory, perhaps returning to normalcy will mean fewer tragedies." Listening to his words, I felt he had truly let go of everything. When a person no longer harbors desires, wealth, reputation, and power indeed become meaningless.

"Take Milo and Stella with you," he said once more.

I looked at him intently. "If you miss them, call me anytime. Whether we're in Manhattan or abroad, I'll find a way to bring them to you."

He nodded slightly.

"Please take care of yourself."

Finally, I stood up, bowed slightly, and left Howard's study.

I descended the grand staircase. My heart clenched as I spotted Milo and Stella sitting quietly on the ivory sofa, their small frames dwarfed by the massive piece of furniture.

The moment I appeared, Milo's face lit up. He jumped to his feet, his dark curls bouncing as he ran toward me with the boundless energy only a six-year-old could possess. "Mommy!" His clear, bright voice rang through the hall, wrapping around my heart like a warm embrace.

Stella followed her twin brother more deliberately, her gray eyes-so like her father's-sparkled with a mix of hope and hesitation. "Mommy..." she said softly, the word carrying all the weight of her careful nature. These twins had become my world's center, a gift I never expected to receive.

I crouched down to their level, my eyes meeting theirs. "Do you understand that you'll be staying with me now?" I asked gently, watching their expressions carefully.

Milo's brow furrowed in that endearing way that reminded me so much of Lucas. "Daddy told us we'd live with you after he married our godmother. But Mommy, he didn't marry her, did he?" His innocent question carried the confusion of a child trying to understand adult complexities. "Did Daddy do something wrong? Why did those people take him away?"

Beside him, Stella remained quiet, but I felt her small hand slip into mine. She had always been the more intuitive of the twins, often sensing the emotional undercurrents that Milo missed. Her gesture wasn't seeking comfort-she was offering it, trying to support me in her own way.

My chest tightened. These children were barely seven, too young to be caught in this web of adult complications. They should be worried about playground games and favorite cartoons, not their father's arrest or family upheaval.

"Your daddy will be fine," I assured them, forcing strength into my voice. "Everything will work out."

"That's what Daddy said too!" Milo declared with unwavering faith.

Stella nodded solemnly. "He told us he'd come back no matter what," she added, her voice carrying that peculiar mix of childish softness and mature understanding that always caught me off guard. "He made us promise to take care of you, Mommy."

I felt tears threatening to spill. These children, so young yet so perceptive, made me acutely aware of how much time we'd lost, how many moments I should have been there for.

"Don't cry, Mommy." Stella reached up with her delicate fingers to catch a tear I hadn't realized had escaped. Her touch was feather-light, careful, as if she was handling something precious. "Milo and I will stay with you."

"Yeah!" Milo puffed out his chest, trying to look bigger than his small frame allowed. "I'm the man of the house now. I'll protect you and Stella!" His declaration, made with such earnest determination, nearly broke my composure entirely.

"Thank you, sweetheart," I managed, drawing both children into a tight embrace. They smelled of lavender shampoo and that indefinable scent of childhood-clean and sweet and innocent.

As we prepared to leave, Walter appeared with their bags, already packed and waiting by the door. The children's favorite toys and books had been carefully included-Stella's sketch pad and colored pencils, Milo's toy cars and his beloved stuffed penguin.

Before we stepped out, I guided the children to turn around for one last look. On the second-floor terrace, Howard sat in his wheelchair, watching us. The morning light cast his face in shadow, but I could see how tightly his hands gripped the armrests.

"Say goodbye to Great-grandfather," I whispered to the twins.

They waved obediently. Stella, in her characteristic way, blew a kiss-her special farewell that never failed to bring a smile to the old man's face, even in his darkest moods. Today was no exception; I caught the slight softening of his stern expression.

Milo, not to be outdone, called out, "Bye, Great-grandpa! We'll come visit soon!" His voice echoed in the vast space, filled with the simple certainty of childhood promises.

From our distance, I couldn't make out the details of Howard's expression, couldn't tell if the glint in his eyes was from tears or just the morning light. But I saw him raise one hand in a slight wave, a gesture so small yet carrying the weight of generations of family history, pride, and pain.

As we turned to leave, Stella tugged at my sleeve. "Mommy," she whispered, "will Daddy's house be sad without us?"

The question caught me off guard with its profound simplicity. I looked down at her serious little face, seeing the worry etched there. "Houses aren't sad or happy by themselves, sweetheart," I explained softly. "They're just waiting for the people they love to come back."

"Like we're waiting for Daddy?" Milo asked, his hand finding mine.

"Exactly like that," I agreed, squeezing his small fingers gently. "And while we wait, we'll make our own home together."