A week and a half into lockdown, the days had begun blending together.
Not completely.
Malissa still knew the difference between Monday and Thursday.
Still checked the date on her phone every morning.
Still counted down the weeks until her father's appeal hearing.
But the sharp edges of time had softened.
The villa existed in its own quiet rhythm.
Breakfast. Work. Lunch. Silence. Dinner.
Sleep. Repeat.
The outside world continued moving through television screens and news alerts.
Inside Evermere, life moved considerably slower.
That morning, Malissa sat at the small desk near her bedroom window, laptop open before her.
Several selected sketches and printed designs lay neatly arranged beside it.
Over the past week, she had already sorted most of her work.
Now came the harder part.
Organizing it properly.
She was creating a portfolio.
A real one.
One she could actually send to potential clients, employers, or investors someday.
Some designs needed descriptions.
Others needed adjustments.
A few required complete redesigns before she would ever allow anyone else to see them.
Her cursor hovered over the screen as she typed. Edited. Deleted. Typed again.
She had spent most of her adult life working, surviving, helping her family, and putting out one fire after another.
Now she had something she rarely
possessed. Time. Actual time.
And she intended to use it well.
By late morning, several pages had finally begun taking shape.
It wasn't perfect. But it was progress.
She stretched her arms above her head and groaned softly.
Her back protested immediately.
"Okay."
She stood.
"Break."
The villa was quiet as she descended the staircase.
Alexander was somewhere upstairs.
Most likely in the study.
He spent a surprising amount of time there.
She headed toward the kitchen, intending to make coffee.
Halfway through rinsing a mug, she noticed the sink wasn't draining properly.
The water remained stubbornly in place.
She frowned. Waited. Nothing.
The water continued sitting there.
"Seriously?"
She tried again.
Still nothing. Another attempt. Nothing.
The sink appeared completely unconcerned with her frustration.
Malissa sighed.
Wonderful.
She searched beneath the counter.
Then through nearby cabinets.
Then under the sink.
Nothing useful. No tools. No miracle solution.
No hidden instruction manual explaining how to survive lockdown plumbing issues.
After another ten minutes of unsuccessful effort, she leaned against the counter.
The obvious solution stood upstairs.
Unfortunately.
She stared toward the ceiling.
Alexander was working.
She knew he was working.
The man practically lived inside that study.
The last thing she wanted was to interrupt him over a sink.
Maybe she could leave it.
Maybe it would fix itself.
She immediately dismissed that thought.
Nothing in life had ever fixed itself.
With visible reluctance, she left the kitchen.
The upstairs hallway remained quiet.
She stopped outside the study door.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
The last time she had entered the room, her attention had been occupied entirely by the alarming number of coffee cups scattered across his desk. She hadn't noticed much else.
Now she found herself staring at the door as though it might bite.
Ridiculous.
It was a door. Not Alexander.
Although the distinction occasionally felt debatable.
She knocked.
No answer.
A few seconds passed. She considered leaving.
"Come in."
His voice reached her through the door.
Calm. Controlled. As always.
Malissa pushed the door open.
The study was larger than she remembered.
Tall bookshelves lined one wall.
Large windows overlooked the forest beyond the property.
A substantial desk occupied the center of the room.
Documents were arranged with precise order.
A laptop sat open before him.
Alexander barely looked up from whatever he was reading.
"Something wrong?"
Straight to the point. No greetings. No small talk. Very Alexander.
"The kitchen sink is acting up."
Now he looked up.
"It isn't draining."
A brief silence followed.
She half expected him to tell her to call someone.
Or perhaps suggest waiting until maintenance services resumed normally.
Instead, he closed the document in front of him. Stood.
And walked around the desk.
"Show me."
Malissa blinked.
"That's it?"
Alexander looked at her.
"What else would there be?"
Fair.
She led the way downstairs.
The kitchen remained exactly as she'd left it.
Alexander stepped toward the sink.
Examined it briefly. Turned on the faucet.
Watched the water. Then crouched slightly.
His attention narrowed. Focused. Methodical.
The same expression he used during business meetings.
Apparently sink inspections received identical treatment.
Interesting.
Malissa stood nearby.
Watching.
After a moment, Alexander reached beneath the sink.
Adjusted something.
Checked another component.
Then removed a small section beneath the drain.
A blockage became immediately visible.
Nothing major.
Nothing dramatic.
Just enough to prevent proper drainage.
Within minutes, he cleared it.
Reassembled everything.
Turned the water on again.
This time it drained perfectly.
Problem solved.
Alexander washed his hands.
Dried them.
And that was that. No announcement.
No victory speech. No explanation.
The entire repair had taken less than ten minutes.
Malissa stared at the sink.
Then at him.
Then back at the sink.
It felt strangely unfair.
"Fixed."
Alexander set the towel aside.
"Thank you."
He nodded once.
Already turning toward the doorway.
As though fixing household problems in the middle of his workday was completely normal.
Maybe it was. For him.
Without another word, he left the kitchen.
A few moments later, she heard his footsteps ascending the stairs.
Returning to the study.
Returning to work.
Returning to whatever occupied the vast majority of his attention.
Malissa remained where she was.
Looking at the sink.
The entire situation felt oddly insignificant.
And yet it lingered.
Not because the repair itself mattered.
The sink worked.
Great.
Wonderful.
End of story.
What stayed with her was something else.
Alexander had not called Mike.
Had not contacted staff.
Had not searched for someone more qualified.
He had simply handled it.
Matter-of-factly.
Efficiently.
As though solving problems was second nature.
Which, she supposed, it probably was.
Most people only ever saw Alexander Marquez in headlines.
Boardrooms.
Business magazines.
Corporate announcements.
The billionaire CEO.
The empire builder.
The man who controlled companies worth more money than most people would see in several lifetimes.
None of those images included him standing in a kitchen fixing a clogged sink.
The thought almost made her laugh.
Not because it was funny.
Because it felt strangely human.
And for reasons she couldn't quite explain, that realization followed her for the rest of the day.
Not romantic. Not emotional. Just unexpected.
Alexander Marquez was proving to be far more than the version the world saw.
And somehow, she suspected she had only begun discovering that.
The thought lingered far longer than it should have.