Two days later, the routine remained largely unchanged.
The world outside continued to shrink beneath headlines and government announcements.
Inside the villa, life moved at a quieter pace.
Malissa had fallen into a rhythm of her own.
Wake up.
Breakfast.
Work.
Lunch.
More work.
Dinner.
Sleep.
It was not particularly exciting.
But it was productive.
Which was more than she could say for most periods of her life.
That morning, after breakfast, she sat near the bedroom window with her laptop open in front of her.
Several selected designs were spread neatly across the bed.
Some had already been scanned and uploaded.
Others still needed descriptions.
For years, she had created work whenever she found the time.
Between jobs.
Between responsibilities.
Between problems.
Now she was finally organizing it into something professional.
Something she could actually use.
Her phone buzzed.
The screen lit up with a familiar contact.
Mum.
A smile appeared before she could stop it.
She accepted the call immediately.
"Mum."
"Malissa."
Her mother's voice sounded stronger than it had weeks ago.
Not completely recovered.
But stronger.
And that alone eased something inside her.
"How are you feeling today?"
"I should be asking you that."
Malissa laughed softly.
"I'm fine."
"Hmm."
The sound carried enough skepticism to make her smile wider.
"How are you really?"
"I'm fine, Mum."
"You sound tired."
"I'm not tired."
"You are."
"Mum."
"You always sound like this when you're tired."
Malissa shook her head.
Some things never changed.
"How are the doctors treating you?"
"Very well."
"Good."
"The nurses are very attentive."
"I'm glad."
A brief silence followed.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Then her mother asked,
"Are you eating properly?"
Malissa laughed.
"Yes."
"Actual food?"
"Yes."
"Not just coffee?"
"I don't even drink that much coffee."
"Good."
Her mother paused.
"And how is Alexander?"
The question caught her off guard.
Not because it was inappropriate.
Just because hearing his name from her mother still felt strange.
As though the two parts of her life had somehow crossed paths.
"He's fine."
"Still working?"
"Always."
Her mother chuckled softly.
"I expected that."
Malissa smiled.
"So did I."
Another pause.
Then her mother's voice softened.
"If you speak to him today, tell him I'm grateful."
The smile slowly disappeared from Malissa's face.
Not because the words were upsetting.
Because they were sincere.
"He has been very kind to our family."
"He has."
"Tell him I haven't forgotten."
"I will."
Her mother immediately changed the subject.
"Now stop worrying about me and focus on yourself for once."
"That's impossible."
"I raised you. I know exactly how impossible it is."
Malissa laughed again.
A few minutes later, the call ended.
For a moment she sat quietly, staring at the phone in her hand.
Then she returned to work.
The rest of the morning passed quickly.
Descriptions.
Edits.
Corrections.
Uploads.
Progress.
By early afternoon, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.
Her brain felt exhausted.
The words on the screen had started blending together.
She closed the laptop.
A break was necessary.
The villa remained quiet.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing exciting.
Until she smelled something.
Malissa paused.
At first she thought she imagined it.
Then the scent drifted through the room again.
Warm.
Rich.
Savory.
Definitely food.
Her stomach immediately took interest.
Curiosity followed.
She stood.
Left her room.
And followed the aroma downstairs.
The smell grew stronger with every step.
By the time she reached the kitchen doorway, she had already accepted that someone was cooking.
What she had not expected was who.
Malissa stopped.
Alexander stood near the stove.
For a moment she simply stared.
Not because he was cooking.
Well.
Partly because he was cooking.
But mostly because the entire image felt unexpected.
A pot simmered quietly on the stove.
Several ingredients were arranged neatly across the counter.
Steam rose into the air.
Alexander appeared completely focused.
Comfortable.
At ease.
As though standing in a kitchen preparing lunch was a perfectly normal way to spend an afternoon.
Which apparently it was.
He wore a dark charcoal sweater with the sleeves pushed slightly upward.
Simple black trousers.
No jacket.
No tie.
No polished corporate armor.
Nothing about him resembled the intimidating CEO featured in business magazines.
The realization was oddly unsettling.
And annoyingly unfair.
Because relaxed suited him far too well.
Alexander turned slightly.
His gaze landed on her.
"You're staring."
Malissa immediately looked away.
"I wasn't."
"You were."
She sighed.
Fine.
Maybe she had been.
"What are you making?"
"Pasta."
That explained the smell.
"What kind?"
"Creamy pasta."
He returned his attention to the stove.
Conversation apparently complete.
Malissa remained where she was.
Still suspicious.
Still confused.
Still trying to understand why a billionaire was standing in a kitchen making pasta from scratch.
Eventually she moved closer.
"Do you need help?"
Alexander glanced at her.
"You can if you want."
Not exactly enthusiastic.
But not a refusal.
She took that as permission.
The next twenty minutes passed surprisingly easily.
She handed him ingredients when asked.
Helped prepare vegetables.
Moved dishes out of the way.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing particularly meaningful.
Just two people occupying the same space.
The finished meal looked incredible.
Which was unfortunate.
Because now her expectations had risen.
Alexander placed a plate in front of her.
"Careful."
She frowned.
"Why?"
"It's hot."
Helpful.
Very helpful.
Malissa picked up her fork.
Took a bite.
And froze.
Alexander noticed immediately.
"You hate it."
"I hate you."
One eyebrow lifted.
The corner of his mouth almost moved.
Almost.
"This is ridiculous."
"What is?"
She pointed at the plate.
"This."
He looked entirely unconcerned.
"It's pasta."
"No."
Malissa shook her head.
"This is not normal pasta."
Alexander took another bite.
"It is."
"It isn't."
"It is."
"It absolutely isn't."
He appeared completely indifferent to her outrage.
Which only made it worse.
She took another bite.
Still ridiculous.
Still unfairly good.
Eventually she asked the question that had been bothering her from the moment she entered the kitchen.
"Where did you learn to cook?"
Alexander's gaze remained on his plate.
"I learned because it was necessary."
That was all.
No explanation.
No story.
No details.
Just a simple answer.
Malissa waited.
Nothing followed.
Of course.
She should have known.
The meal finished not long afterward.
As usual, Alexander gathered the plates.
As usual, she automatically moved toward the sink.
By now it felt natural.
Not comfortable.
Not familiar.
Just natural.
She washed dishes.
Alexander prepared coffee.
The sound of running water mixed with the soft noise of the coffee machine.
The quiet no longer felt awkward.
Not entirely.
At one point she glanced toward him.
He stood near the counter waiting for the coffee to finish.
Calm.
Relaxed.
Different.
Not because he had changed.
Because she was finally seeing parts of him the public never did.
The businessman.
The CEO.
The billionaire.
Those versions existed.
She knew they did.
But so did this version.
The man who fixed sinks.
Cooked pasta.
Made coffee.
And never felt the need to announce any of it.
That realization followed her upstairs later that evening.
Long after the dishes had been put away.
Long after the conversation ended.
Long after the smell of pasta disappeared from the kitchen.
Alexander Marquez kept quietly contradicting every assumption she had made about him.
First the sink.
Now this.
And she had the distinct feeling she had only scratched the surface.
End of Chapter 51
Alexander reached for a small bowl of grated parmesan and sprinkled it into the sauce with measured ease.
The rich aroma filling the kitchen became even more inviting.
"What are you making?" Malissa asked after a while.
"Creamy pasta."
She nodded.
"I guessed the pasta part."
"The sauce gave it away?"
"The smell did."
A faint curve touched the corner of his mouth before disappearing almost as quickly as it came.
She wasn't entirely sure she had imagined it.
Watching him cook was unexpectedly fascinating.
Not because of the food.
Because of the confidence.
There was no uncertainty in his movements.
No stopping to think.
No checking recipes.
Everything came naturally, as though he had prepared the meal countless times before.
A few minutes later, he lowered the heat beneath the saucepan.
The meal was almost ready.
Malissa stood.
"Can I help now?"
Alexander looked towards the dining table.
"You can set the table."
"That I can do."
She opened one of the drawers and gathered cutlery.
Two forks.
Two knives.
Napkins.
Water glasses.
Nothing elaborate.
Just enough for dinner.
By the time she finished, Alexander was already plating the pasta.
She watched quietly.
Even something as simple as serving dinner seemed oddly refined in his hands.
Each portion looked carefully balanced.
Not excessive.
Not too little.
The creamy sauce coated the pasta perfectly, finished with freshly grated parmesan and a light scattering of herbs.
He carried one plate over and placed it gently before her.
Then he walked around to the opposite chair, set his own plate down and took his seat.
Malissa remained standing for another moment.
She looked at the meal in front of her.
Then at him.
Then back at the plate.
It looked far too good to disturb.
Alexander unfolded his napkin.
"Aren't you eating?"
She smiled sheepishly.
"I was... appreciating it."
"It'll still look good after the first bite."
"I doubt that."
Nevertheless, she picked up her fork.
Twirled a small portion.
And tasted it.
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
She hadn't expected that.
Not even close.
The sauce was rich without being heavy.
Smooth.
Perfectly seasoned.
Comforting in a way she couldn't quite explain.
Without realizing it, she took another bite.
Alexander watched her quietly.
"Good?"
She looked up.
Their eyes met across the table.
"...Yeah."
A tiny pause followed.
"Too good."
His expression remained composed.
Only the faintest hint of satisfaction appeared in his eyes.
He didn't need to say anything.
He already knew.
Malissa shook her head lightly.
"I honestly wasn't expecting this."
"I gathered."
She smiled to herself before taking another bite.
For a while, the only sounds between them were the quiet clink of cutlery against porcelain and the gentle breeze brushing the trees outside.
The silence no longer demanded to be filled.
It simply existed.
Comfortably.
After several minutes, Malissa glanced up again.
"When did you learn to cook?"
Alexander finished swallowing before answering.
"I learned because it was necessary."
She waited.
The explanation never came.
She considered asking more.
Something about his tone discouraged it.
Whatever story lay behind that simple answer belonged to another time.
Instead, she nodded.
"It suits you."
That made him look up.
"The cooking."
She corrected herself almost immediately.
"You're... good at it."
"Thank you."
The conversation drifted elsewhere after that.
Nothing particularly important.
She mentioned receiving a few acknowledgement emails for the applications she'd sent earlier.
Alexander listened.
"They're only automatic replies."
"It's still movement."
"I suppose."
"It means someone received your work."
She hadn't thought of it that way.
A small smile returned.
"I guess it does."
Dinner ended not long afterwards.
Malissa gathered her plate.
"So did Alexander."
As she reached for the sink, she looked over her shoulder.
"Since you made dinner, I'll do the dishes."
He gave a single nod.
"Alright."
Instead of leaving the kitchen, Alexander crossed towards the coffee machine resting neatly on the counter.
He filled it with water before reaching for the coffee beans.
A few moments later, he looked in her direction.
"Coffee?"
She glanced up from the running tap.
"Yes, please."
The gentle hum of the coffee machine joined the quiet sounds of running water.
Malissa washed the dishes while Alexander prepared two mugs without unnecessary movement.
Everything about him remained composed.
Unhurried.
Almost methodical.
When she finished drying her hands, one steaming mug was already waiting for her on the counter.
"Thank you."
She accepted it with both hands.
The warmth spread instantly through her fingers.
They stood in comfortable silence, each taking the first sip.
The coffee was just as good as the dinner.
She shouldn't have been surprised anymore.
Yet somehow she still was.
A few minutes later, she set the empty mug inside the sink.
"Thank you for dinner."
Alexander inclined his head.
"You're welcome."
She lingered for only a second before turning towards the staircase.
"Good night."
"Good night."
By the time she reached her room, darkness had settled beyond the windows.
She placed her phone on the bedside table before sitting quietly on the edge of the bed.
Her thoughts wandered back over the evening.
Alexander Marquez continued quietly dismantling every assumption she had ever made about him.
First the sink.
Now dinner.
He never explained himself.
Never sought recognition.
He simply did what needed to be done and carried on as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Somehow, that made the discoveries feel even more genuine.
And for reasons she couldn't quite explain, she no longer believed those would be the last surprises he had in store.