Work has always been my refuge. Numbers didn't talk back. Meetings didn't set fires in wardrobes. Contracts didn't throw towels on the floor just to prove a point.
So when I reached the office, I buried myself in the day's agenda like a drowning man . Meetings. Memos. Quarterly reports.
But none of it worked.
Because underneath all that calm exterior, I was irritated visibly .
I could see it in the way the staff avoided eye contact.
Hell, even my personal assistant pretended to type more furiously than necessary just to avoid my gaze.
It wasn't surprising. I rarely displayed emotion. Even when my grandfather died, I didn't flinch. Didn't take a day off. I walked into his funeral with the same expression I used in boardrooms.
But today...today I was not myself.
I was pacing the office when Dmitri walked in.
"How do you tame a wild kitten that's determined to bite you no matter how much you try to feed it?"
He blinked slowly.
"Kitten?"
I didn't elaborate.
But he understood immediately.
"Did you two fight?" he asked cautiously.
I didn't answer. Just looked at him.
He took the silence as confirmation and sighed, folding his arms.
"She's young, Alexander. Just a college student, thrown into a mess she didn't ask for, You may be angry, but it's only natural she acts out. Her whole life's been shaken."
I looked away, jaw clenched.
Dmitri continued. "But you're not a college student. You're the grown man in this situation. And if you don't want Mikhail to win you'll have to start by winning her over."
I scoffed. "You want me to court my own wife?"
"I want you to be better than Mikhail, because it looks like he's trying to use Evelyn as leverage to ruin you. Probably wants more money. But if she's on your side"
He paused, then pulled out his tablet and played a video.
Security footage. Her college campus.
The video showed Mikhail cornering Evelyn, trying to talk to her. That familiar predator's grin.
But she didn't even look at him. Just kept walking. Until Mikhail finally gave up and walked away, clearly agitated.
"She's not his puppet," Dmitri said. "Not yet, at least."
I stared at the screen, silent.
"She just needs someone to trust," he added. "And if you don't give her a reason to then he'll be the first to take advantage of that void."
Maybe Dmitri was right.
Maybe this wasn't about taming a wild kitten at all but probably it was about earning the right not to be bitten.
Evelyn
After Alexander left that morning , after that fierce fight , I sat on the edge of his bed, knees pulled up to my chest, The sheets smelled faintly like him. Clean, expensive and distant. A scent that somehow made me feel even more alone.
The maid came a few times, quiet and polite, bringing breakfast then lunch and later, dinner. I didn't touch any of it. Didn't even glance at the trays.
My thoughts kept circling back to him. Not Alexander but Mikhail.
Yesterday, before everything exploded, he had come to my college again.
I remembered his threatening voice clearly:
"If you fail to seduce him, Evelyn he'll discard you just like that. Do you think you matter to him? You need to make him trust you. Make him vulnerable. And then you can start feeding me what I need to know."
Like I was a spy. A worm digging its way through Alexander's life on his behalf.
And I hated him for it. Hated that I was stuck in his trap.
But Alexander? Is there any difference between him and Mikhail?
All men seemed to have the same disease, when they couldn't control something, they discarded it.
I was still thinking about that when sleep pulled me under like water.
I didn't know how long I'd been out.
The room was still dark when I heard the sound of the door unlocking.
My eyes fluttered open in the quiet.
Alexander stepped in.
Coat in one hand, shirt sleeves rolled up, his face shadowed under the dim hallway light . He looked tired and miserable.
But beautiful, so beautiful it hurt my chest.
I squeezed my eyes shut again. I wasn't going to admire him. Not after everything.
I heard his footsteps approach the bed.
He sat beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Then his voice, low, tired, too calm for how angry he was this morning.
"Stop acting," he murmured. "You're a terrible actor."
I opened my eyes slowly, met his unreadable expression, and sat up.
"What do you want now?" I asked, the bitterness creeping in before I could stop it.
He looked at me for a beat.
"Why didn't you eat?" he asked.
"I wasn't hungry," I muttered.
And exactly at that moment my stomach growled loud, obvious, betraying me completely.
My cheeks flushed in the dark.
Alexander raised a brow,
"That's why you don't skip dinner," he said .
Then he stood. "The maids are asleep. If you're going to eat, it has to be outside."
I looked down at myself. Still wearing his white shirt from earlier. My bare legs, the shirt barely grazing my thighs.
I crossed my arms over my chest self-consciously. "I look like a whore."
He looked over his shoulder, eyes scanning me from head to toe with infuriating calm.
"And that's why you don't burn your brand-new clothes."
I rolled my eyes. But I got off the bed.
Because I was hungry. And because for the first time since the chaos began—he didn't sound angry.
He just sounded tired.
And maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the only one who felt like they were running out of places to hide.
Alexander walked ahead of me toward the kitchen, I followed him, still not quite believing what was happening.
He opened the fridge, pulled out a few things, eggs, vegetables, a packet of cheese. Then he rolled up his sleeves higher and walked over to the stove like he did this every night.
I blinked,
"Are you going to cook?" I asked with a genuine shock.
"Yes."
"Sit on the couch," he added, already starting to chop something on the board.
So I did. Quietly.
I tucked my legs under the oversized shirt I was still wearing and sank into the couch, arms crossed as I watched him move.
He was surprisingly fast in the kitchen. Efficient. Everything had a rhythm, cutting, tossing, stirring. Not rushed. Not clumsy.
He knew what he was doing.
I leaned my head on the backrest, my eyes trailing to his back ,broad and tall, like a wall. He stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing slightly as he stirred the pan.
His shoulders were huge. His body lean but solid muscle beneath pressed fabric.
It hit me, suddenly that he was massive.
I mean, I knew he was tall before, but seeing him like this, shirt clinging slightly to his back as he moved around in dim light, I realized just how big he was compared to me.
And I'd stood in front of that?
I had yelled at that? Shoved him? Threatened him?
I must be insane.
I pulled the shirt lower over my legs and glanced away, feeling embarrassed.
He looked like a man built to destroy boardrooms or cities. Yet here he was cracking eggs into a pan because I hadn't eaten all day.