Alex pov
I put my phone down slowly, staring at it like it just betrayed me.
Who the hell was that?
Who called Nat mum?
For a moment, I convince myself my ears are playing tricks on me. Maybe it was the television in the background or a neighbor's kid. But no—there was a small voice, faint but clear, calling her Mum.
The word keeps echoing in my head like a hammer against metal.
Mum.
Before I can let my mind spiral, my phone rings again — this time flashing *Mother*across the screen.
I sigh and drag a hand through my hair before picking it up.
"You're expected at the family dinner this Sunday," her clipped, polished tone slices through the line. "And don't you dare come up with some excuse that you can't make it. We'll be expecting you."
She hangs up before I can even respond. Typical.
I stare at the phone again, expression flat. Nothing new there — I've always been her least favorite child. The golden one, my brother — the devil spawn, as I like to call him — has always been her pride and joy.
Sunday.
I'll have to see his face again. Great.
I exhale sharply, raking my fingers down my jaw. My stomach growls loudly, a harsh reminder that I haven't eaten since morning.
Nothing has tasted right since Natalie.
Even food feels wrong without her touch.
I close my eyes briefly, her voice echoing in my head. "Alex, you can't eat like this, you'll ruin your stomach."
I swallow hard.
Should I go to her place?
No.
That would be pathetic.
Do I even know where she lives? Probably not — but that's a problem a few phone calls could fix.
Would she open the door for me?
Doubtful.
She'd probably slam it in my face.
I rub both hands roughly over my face and mutter under my breath, "But I'm fucking starving."
I grab my phone and scroll to Catherine's number. She's safe, predictable — and her food might not kill me.
"Hello," I say when she picks up.
"Hi, Alex," she coos, her voice small and breathy — the one she saves just for me. "How are you doing?"
"Are you still open?"
"No, but—" I can practically hear her smile through the line, "—we can reopen just for you. What do you want to eat?"
"Stir-fried pasta. No garlic," I reply curtly.
"Okay! I'll have it delivered to your office within forty-five minutes."
"There's no need," I cut in. "I'll come over."
There's a brief pause. "You're… coming over?" she repeats, a little too eagerly.
"Yes."
"Oh. Oh—okay. I'll be expecting you," she says quickly, her voice bubbling with excitement.
I hung up without saying another word.
---
Her restaurant sits on the corner of the street — all glass panels and warm amber lights, the kind of place that tries too hard to look elegant. The scent of expensive perfume and overcooked sauce hits me before I even step in.
The moment I open the door, Catherine is there — or Caterina, as she insists people call her. Her perfume floods the air, a cloying floral scent that makes my nose itch.
Not like Natalie's.
Natalie smells like vanilla — soft, warm, addictive.
"Alex!" she beams, hurrying toward me, heels clicking on the marble floor. The smile on her face is so wide it looks painful.
"Your pasta is ready," she says, brushing her hair behind one ear and leaning a little too close. "Sit down, I'll serve you." Her lashes flutter, and she bites her lip in what she probably thinks is seductive.
I give a short nod and take a seat at one of the corner tables. The restaurant is nearly empty, dimly lit with golden chandeliers and wine bottles lined up behind the counter like trophies. Soft jazz plays in the background, the kind that's supposed to make you feel comfortable. It doesn't.
Catherina returns with my food, bending unnecessarily low as she sets the plate in front of me — her neckline dipping enough to leave nothing to imagination.
I keep my face blank.
"Thank you, Catherina." I said flatly.
"You can just call me Cat," she purrs, lingering by my table. "You're not a stranger, Alex."
I don't bother responding. She stays anyway, standing there as I pick up my fork.
She watches me take the first bite — the pasta is bland, lifeless, the taste almost insulting. I chew slowly, swallowing just to silence the growl in my stomach.
"That new assistant of yours…" she starts, pretending to wipe an invisible speck from the table. "What's her name again? Natalie?"
I stop mid-chew but say nothing.
"She's… very rude," Catherine continues, voice dipping into a gossiping tone. "She came here one day, you know — telling me how to cook your meals. Acting like she knows you or something."
I finally lifted my eyes to her. One sharp look.
That's all it takes. She fumbles with her words and laughs nervously.
"Pretty, though. I'll give her that."Caterina adds, forcing a laugh
Still, I say nothing. I chew another forkful of pasta and swallow it without tasting a thing.
"She really thinks she knows what's best for you," she continues, fishing for a reaction.
I put my fork down slowly and meet her gaze. "She does."
Caterina blinks, thrown off.
"Yes," I added, my tone final.
I finish the pasta without answering. Every bite feels like chewing air.
I reach for a napkin, wipe my mouth, and stand. The chair scrapes softly against the tile.
"You know where to deduct the money from," I say, adjusting my cuffs.
Her expression softens, trying one last attempt. "Alex, please. The meal's on me tonight."
"I insist," I reply, stepping back from her touch. "You know where to deduct the money."
Her smile falters, but she nods. "Of course."
I turn and walk out, the bell above the door chiming as I leave.
The night air is cold, cleaner than the suffocating perfume I left behind. I sit in my car, the silence pressing against my chest.
I slide into my car, rest my hands on the steering wheel, and stare out through the windshield.
What's Natalie doing right now?
Is she with Zade?
Is he her boyfriend… or her husband?
The thought makes something dark coil in my chest, sharp and restless. My right eye twitches
My fingers tighten around the wheel.
I start the engine and drive off into the night, my mind a battlefield of questions I'm not ready to face.
How the hell am I supposed to face her tomorrow?