Andrea didn't care about what Jack was thinking; she drove straight home without stopping anywhere.
Upon arriving, she got out of her car and entered the house to find Agatha waiting for her in the living room.
"Hey, Pete stayed up past his bedtime waiting for you," Agatha informed Andrea as she walked in.
Andrea paused for a moment, then replied, "I'll go check on him in his room."
Agatha nodded as Andrea headed towards Pete's room. She opened the door and found Pete fast asleep on his bed.
Approaching the bed, Andrea bent down and gently kissed Pete's forehead, whispering, "I love you, honey."
As Pete stirred in his sleep and murmured, "Daddy," Andrea's mood shifted, a hint of sadness crossing her face. She turned away silently and left the room without a word.
When Andrea emerged from the room, Agatha was still in the living room, waiting for her.
"Did you see Tony?" Andrea inquired, making her way to a chair to sit down across from Agatha.
"Andrea, let's not talk about Tony. We need to discuss you. How much longer are you going to lie to yourself?" Agatha asked, her voice carrying a weight of concern.
"Agatha, please, I don't want to talk about this," Andrea responded, a note of frustration in her voice.
"But we must, Andrea. What you're doing is madness. You know, deep in your heart, that Valentine Anderson is gone, yet you're proceeding with the wedding. What will you do if the groom doesn't show up tomorrow? Have you thought about the talk, the repercussions for your company, or Pete? How crushed he will be?" Agatha pressed, her stern tone showing she wanted Andrea to realize the gravity of her decisions.
"I don't care what anyone thinks, Agatha! Valentine Anderson is alive, and we are getting married tomorrow," Andrea declared, her voice laced with desperation as tears streamed down her face.
"Do you truly believe he's alive?" Agatha challenged, not relenting in the face of Andrea's emotional state.
Silence fell as Andrea looked at Agatha, her eyes red and swollen. After a moment, she stubbornly wiped her tears away and said, "I don't want to talk about it, Agatha. My wedding is tomorrow, and I need to rest. It's getting late."
As Andrea turned to head up the stairs, Agatha's voice stopped her. "Pete stayed up late because you promised him his father would come back. He kept asking me when his dad would be home from work. You should see how disappointed he is. Andrea, please don't hurt the boy more than you already have."
Andrea paused, her fists clenched, as Agatha's words sank in. Then, with resolute steps, she continued up the staircase and went straight to her room, slamming the door behind her.
Leaning against the door, she allowed herself to collapse into sobs, mourning deeply.
"I can't lose hope now. I can't give up," Andrea whispered to herself with stubborn determination before eventually lying down on her bed.
The next day, April 1st, should have been a day of laughter and pranks, but within the Singer Mansion, the mood was anything but cheerful. The air was thick with sorrow, weighing heavily on the shoulders of the staff.
It wasn't long before a car pulled up to the grand estate, and Mrs. Anderson stepped out. The days following her son's rumoured death had aged her prematurely; the smile she wore as she entered the mansion was strained and devoid of its former warmth.
"Hello, Mrs. Anderson," Agatha greeted, moving quickly to welcome the recent arrival.
A smile crept onto Mrs. Anderson's face. "You're Andrea's friend?"
"More than a friend," Agatha replied, her tone serious. "Please, take a seat. We need to talk, Mrs. Anderson." She gently guided the older woman to sit down.
As Mrs. Anderson settled in, she observed Agatha with keen interest. The grace and confidence with which Agatha conducted herself earned Mrs. Anderson's silent admiration.
Once Agatha had ensured that Mrs. Anderson's needs were met by the staff, she began, "Mrs. Anderson, Andrea is like a sister, almost a daughter to me. I'm going to need your cooperation."
Mrs. Anderson's brow furrowed in concern. "Can you please tell me what it is you're asking of me?"
Agatha's expression was grave as she answered, "Andrea doesn't know, but we're trying to keep the wedding ceremony private to avoid any potential disasters."
The light in Mrs. Anderson's eyes dimmed. She understood Agatha's implications all too well; her hope that her son Valentine might miraculously show up at the wedding was fading. A sharp pang of grief clenched at her heart.
"I understand," Mrs. Anderson murmured, her voice laced with sadness.
Agatha offered a sympathetic look, well aware of the heartache evident on Mrs. Anderson's face, but powerless to change the reality of their situation.
"May I see Andrea?" Mrs. Anderson inquired, a hint of hope in her voice.
"Of course, yes," Agatha responded without hesitation, directing a maid to escort Mrs. Anderson to Andrea.
Once Mrs. Anderson was led away, Agatha exited the mansion and made a discreet phone call to Tony. "She has agreed to cooperate with us," she announced as soon as Tony picked up.
"Good," came the succinct reply before the line went dead.
Agatha looked at her phone screen with a heavy heart, her expression one of reluctance and a deep-seated reluctance to disconnect.
After leaving the mansion to complete another errand, Agatha returned hours later to accompany Andrea to the church, where a priest would officiate the exchange of wedding vows.
As Andrea stepped out of the car in her bridal gown, a throng of journalists, led by Benita, swarmed around her.
"Andrea, you killed my brother! Are you trying to dupe everyone by proceeding with a wedding when the groom is gone, hoping to lay claim to all of my brother's possessions? You are a vile and despicable woman!" Benita's accusations pierced the air, her voice reverberating angrily in front of the church.