CHAPTER 1: The Mother Who Built His Life
Three months earlier, Evelyn Parker still lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city.
The house was not luxurious. It had no swimming pool, no servants, and no marble living room. But there was always a pot of lavender on the windowsill, the kitchen always smelled of toasted bread, and an old photo of Alexander at ten years old still hung on the wall.
In the photo, he was a skinny boy in a white shirt, holding a school award, standing beside his gentle smiling mother.
When Alexander became a billionaire, newspapers called him a self-made genius.
They said he was intelligent, cold, and decisive.
They said he had built Reed Capital from nothing.
They said he was a man who never needed to rely on anyone.
But no one knew the truth.
For Alexander to have that life, Evelyn had once worked three jobs at the same time.
In the morning, she worked at a laundry shop.
In the afternoon, she cleaned a small restaurant.
At night, she sewed clothes for customers until midnight.
There were days when little Alexander had a fever, but Evelyn still carried him on her back to deliver finished clothes, because if she was late by even one day, she would not have enough money to pay the rent.
When Alexander was twelve, he once promised his mother:
“Mom, when I’m rich, I’ll buy you the biggest house in the city.”
Evelyn only smiled.
“I don’t need a big house. I only need you to live kindly.”
Years later, Alexander did buy the biggest mansion on the northern hill of the city.
But Evelyn rarely stepped inside it.
Not because she did not want to.
But because Alexander had become more and more distant from his mother.
At first, he called every night.
Then once a week.
Then once a month.
Finally, his secretary called on his behalf.
“Mrs. Parker, Mr. Reed has an important meeting today.”
“Mrs. Parker, Mr. Reed is flying to London.”
“Mrs. Parker, Mr. Reed will contact you again when he has time.”
Evelyn understood that her son was busy.
She never blamed him.
But everything changed when Victoria Lane appeared.
Victoria was the daughter of an old upper-class family. She appeared beside Alexander at a charity banquet with a soft smile, clever words, and the image of a woman born to stand beside a billionaire.
The media called them the perfect couple.
Victoria always held Alexander’s arm in front of cameras. She always tilted her head with a gentle smile. She always said the kind of words that made people believe she loved him more than anything.
“Alexander is a lonely man,” Victoria once said in an interview. “I only want to become his peaceful home.”
Evelyn read that sentence in the newspaper.
She stared at it for a long time.
For some reason, her heart felt heavy.
A person who truly loved Alexander would never call him “a lonely man” in front of the whole world. Only outsiders saw him as a cold symbol. Someone who truly loved him would know that deep beneath that powerful appearance, Alexander was still the little boy who once worried when his mother worked too hard.
The first time Evelyn met Victoria, Victoria was very polite.
“I’ve heard so much about you from Alexander,” Victoria said, holding Evelyn’s hand. “I truly admire you.”
Evelyn smiled.
But Victoria’s hand was cold and distant.
Her eyes moved over Evelyn’s old coat, her worn shoes, and her simple handbag — and stayed there longer than necessary.
That evening, Evelyn stayed for dinner at the mansion.
Alexander sat at the head of the table, answering work messages while eating. Victoria sat beside him, occasionally reminding him to eat more, drink water, and rest.
From the outside, she looked perfect.
But when Alexander stood up to answer a phone call, Victoria leaned toward Evelyn and whispered:
“You see how tired he is, don’t you? You should come here less often, so he can have his own space.”
Evelyn froze slightly.
“I only want to see my son.”
Victoria smiled.
“I understand. But sometimes a parent’s love can also become a burden.”
Those words pierced Evelyn’s heart like a small needle.
From that day on, every time Evelyn came to the mansion, Victoria found a way to make her feel like an outsider.
If Evelyn brought homemade soup, Victoria said Alexander was following a special meal plan from a nutritionist.
If Evelyn wanted to sit and wait for her son, Victoria said he was resting and did not want to be disturbed.
If Evelyn called, sometimes Victoria was the one who answered.
“Alexander is busy. Please don’t worry.”
But Alexander knew none of this.
Or perhaps, he was not sensitive enough to realize it.
Victoria always appeared in front of him as a gentle woman.
She said Evelyn was too emotional.
She said his mother disliked her because of their different backgrounds.
She said Evelyn often came to the mansion and made the staff uncomfortable.
“I don’t blame her,” Victoria said one night, resting her head on Alexander’s shoulder. “Maybe she’s afraid of losing you. But I’m tired too, always having to prove that I’m not a bad person.”
Alexander remained silent.
He loved his mother.
But he also believed Victoria.
And the most dangerous thing in the world is not one huge lie.
It is many small lies repeated every day.
Gradually, Alexander began to think his mother really was interfering too much.
Once, Evelyn called him five times because she wanted to ask if he would come home for her birthday dinner. Alexander was in an important meeting and impatiently turned off his phone.
That night, Victoria sighed.
“See? She doesn’t understand the pressure you’re under.”
Alexander did not answer.
But on Evelyn’s birthday, he only sent flowers.
He did not come.
Evelyn received a bouquet so large it took up almost the whole small dining table. On the card, there was only one line written by his secretary:
“Happy birthday, Mom. Alexander.”
She looked at the card for a very long time.
Then she placed the flowers in a vase, cooked herself a small bowl of noodles, and lit a birthday candle alone.
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That night, she did not cry.
But the lavender pot on the windowsill was forgotten, and a few leaves began to wither.
