Fiona pressed the doorbell, the chime echoing faintly through the house.
‘Why did I press the doorbell, when I already—’
She froze, her finger still hovering near the button as the echo of the chime rang out again.
“I did it again…!”
A frustrated groan tore from her lips as she dragged a hand through her hair, pacing in tight circles.
“Argh—what is wrong with me?!”
The door opened.
“You’re back. How was the shoot?” Fallyn asked, leaning casually against the frame.
“So-so,” Fiona replied, her tone flat as she stepped inside.
The two of them moved into the living room, the air carrying a quiet, unspoken tension.
“What do you mean ‘so-so’?” Fallyn pressed, dropping into a chair that creaked softly beneath her weight.
“It was… fine.” Fiona’s voice lacked conviction.
Her gaze drifted, then paused.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Fiona. Congratulations on your debut. StarTalents Media is an exceptional company. Securing a contract with them is no small feat and you already have a gig lined up,” Alexander said, his voice smooth, measured with approval.
Fiona’s brows tightened, her expression hardening, but she said nothing.
A light laugh cut through the moment.
“Well, her fiancé is the owner of the company that’s why,” Eva chimed in, her tone edged with amusement.
“Oh, I see,” Alexander responded, nodding as though the explanation settled everything.
Fiona’s stomach twisted, a sharp wave of disgust rising within her.
Her eyes flashed.
“Even if I’m engaged to him, it doesn’t mean he handed me this debut. Don’t attach my achievements to him. If I didn’t have the talent, they wouldn’t have picked me from my former agency.”
Fallyn shrugged lightly.
“Still, being his fiancée gave you an edge.”
“Whatever,” Fiona muttered, her voice clipped.
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
The faint echo of her footsteps followed her down the hall before her bedroom door shut firmly behind her.
Silence.
Then—
The rush of water filled the room as she stepped into the shower, letting it wash over her, as if it could rinse away the irritation clinging to her skin.
Moments later, she emerged, droplets still tracing down her arms and froze.
Her breath caught.
There, seated calmly on the edge of her bed as though he had always belonged there was Alexander.
Fiona’s hands flew up in a flash, clutching the towel tighter around her body, her eyes blazing with outrage.
“What the hell are you doing in my room? Who let you in?”
Alexander didn’t flinch.
He remained seated, utterly at ease, like he had every right to be there.
“Oh, sorry,” he said lightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“I didn’t know I needed permission to enter my girlfriend’s room.”
“Ex,” Fiona snapped instantly, the word sharp enough to cut.
He paused, then gave a slow nod.
“Alright… ex.” His tone softened, but something restless flickered beneath it.
“I just wanted to see you.”
Her brows furrowed, irritation flaring.
“See me for what? And even if you did, this is not the place.” Her voice rose, laced with disbelief.
The air shifted.
“Because you’re engaged to Manson.”
The words dropped heavy.
Alexander’s jaw tightened, the muscles ticking as he rose from the bed and strode toward her.
In seconds, he closed the distance between them, his presence overwhelming.
“Have you already started developing feelings for him?” he demanded, his voice low, strained.
Fiona instinctively stepped back.
He followed.
She moved again, another step, another retreat until her back hit the cold surface of the bathroom door.
There was nowhere left to go.
Alexander leaned in, one hand pressing against the door beside her, caging her in.
His gaze burned into hers, searching, almost desperate.
“Fin…” His voice dropped, rougher now. Get faster updates on g.com.
“Are you catching feelings for him? Then what about me?”
Confusion flickered across her face, quickly replaced by irritation.
“What exactly are you trying to pull?” she shot back.
“Baby—”
“Don’t call me that,” she cut in immediately, her tone firm, leaving no room for argument.
A brief silence hung between them.
“Fin,” he tried again, softer this time, almost pleading.
“You don’t have to go through with this engagement. I’ll find a way to break it off.”
She let out a quiet, incredulous laugh, tilting her head slightly.
“And you think you’re a match for Manson?” she asked, mockery threading through her voice.
The question hit harder than expected.
A chill crept down Alexander’s spine, but he didn’t back away.
“I know I’m not,” he admitted, his voice low but resolute.
“But just hold on. I’ll find a way.”
Fiona stared at him for a moment, unreadable.
Then, with a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned away slightly.
“Alright, Mr. Way Finder,” she said dryly.
“I’d like to get dressed now. Kindly leave my room.”
Alexander didn’t move immediately.
He lingered, as if waiting for what, even he didn’t know.
“I’ll be in the living room,” he finally said.
No response.
Only silence.
Fiona didn’t even look at him this time.
Instead, she simply lifted her hand and pointed toward the door.
That was answer enough.
Alexander exhaled softly before turning and walking out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
“Ugh…” Fiona scoffed under her breath, quickly locking it.
Moments later, dressed in her pajamas, she collapsed onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Her thoughts churned, restless and tangled.
“What is wrong with him…?’
‘Why is he suddenly acting like this?’
The questions circled endlessly in her mind, growing heavier, louder—
Until exhaustion finally dragged her under, and sleep claimed her.
Moments later, Fallyn reached Fiona’s door and twisted the handle only for it to resist her.
Locked.
Her brows furrowed, irritation flaring.
“Did she lock herself in? And Lexy is still here…” she muttered under her breath, a low growl slipping through.
Without wasting another second, she turned on her heel and strode back to the living room, her steps quick and restless.
“I think Fin is asleep,” she announced.
Eva nodded calmly.
“She should rest. She’s been working hard.” Then her gaze shifted to Alexander, thoughtful but sharp.
“You’re not new in this family.
Fallyn can keep you company, but don’t deprive her of meeting her boyfriend.” She let out a soft sigh before adding, “Fallyn, when are you going to introduce him?”
Fallyn’s heart skipped violently, her composure faltering for a split second.
“S-soon…” she stuttered.
Alexander exhaled, the sound measured, almost too controlled.
“Of course, Mrs. Eva. I won’t take all of Fallyn’s time.” A faint smile touched his lips.
“She’s like a little sister to me.”
Little sister?
The words slammed into Fallyn’s mind like a spark to dry fuel.
Her gaze snapped to him, sharp and burning, though she said nothing.
“Hahaha, very well then,” Eva said lightly, rising to her feet.
“I’d like to retire to my room. Make yourselves at home.” And with that, she disappeared down the corridor.
The moment the door closed behind her, the air shifted.
Fallyn turned to Alexander, her restraint snapping.
Alexander rose unhurriedly and moved toward her, closing the distance with practiced ease.
He sank beside her, his hands settling gently at her waist, his touch disarmingly soft.
“I said that to avoid suspicion,” he murmured.
“Don’t take it so seriously.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Not take it seriously?” she shot back, her voice trembling with anger.
“I’m the ‘little sister’ you keep sneaking around with, f*cking me on different angles and you expect me to just accept that?”
“Lower your voice,” Alexander warned quietly, his eyes sweeping the room as if the walls themselves might be listening.
Fallyn pulled away from his touch, her expression hardening.
“You know what? I want to rest. You should leave.”
His brows drew together slightly, disappointment flickering across his face.
“Really? You’re that angry?”
She didn’t answer.
Not a word.
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
“…Fine,” he said at last, his tone cooling.
“I’ll leave.”
He stood, hesitation lingering for a heartbeat before he turned and walked out.
The door clicked shut.
“F*ck off,” Fallyn muttered under her breath, her voice breaking as the anger settled deep in her chest.
***
Dinner unfolded as a quiet display of wealth, the round table draped in fine linen and set with gleaming silverware and crystal glassware.
At its center stood a perfectly roasted turkey, its golden skin glistening beneath the warm lighting, surrounded by an indulgent spread of buttered vegetables, crisp golden fries, and herb-roasted potatoes.
Porcelain dishes held rich gravies and delicate sauces, while glasses of freshly squeezed juice and fine wine filled the air with an inviting aroma.
Each place was filled with generous portions of food, and the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates echoed gently through the room.
“Mr. Manson, it is truly more than an honor to dine with you at Spago,” Eva said, her smile bright and carefully composed.
“The service is truly top-notch.”
“Please, enjoy the dinner,” Manson replied smoothly, though his gaze lingered on Fiona a fraction too long.
“Miss Fiona… do you need anything else?”
“You’re very kind, Mr. Manson,” Fallyn interjected sweetly before Fiona could speak.
“I’m enjoying everything on this table.”
Manson’s gaze stayed locked on Fiona, unwavering and sharp, completely ignoring Fallyn as if she didn’t exist.
The silence around the table thickened under the pressure of his stare.
“And you, Fiona?” he asked, his voice low measured, deliberate like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear her say it anyway.
Fiona didn’t look up.
Her eyes stayed fixed on her plate, her expression unreadable.
“I don’t need anything else, thank you.”
A soft, amused sound slipped from Brett.
“Haha… Mr. Manson, please forgive her. She’s been tired from her gig the other day.”
“It’s fine,” Manson said lightly, as if it truly was.
“We shouldn’t add to her burden… isn’t that right, Miss Fiona?”
The way he said her name was deliberate measured, almost intimate.
Fiona inhaled slowly.
At last, her gaze lifted.
It met his.
For a brief moment, the table seemed to disappear.
“Sorry about that Mr. Manson,” she said evenly.
“And the meal is good enough to ease my stress. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
Her fingers tightened subtly around her fork just enough to betray her restraint.
Manson caught it.
His smirk deepened as his gaze remained fixed on hers, even as she averted her eyes back to her food, intense and unyielding, as though refusing to let her look away.
Almost imperceptibly, he cut into his turkey and took a slow bite, savoring it with controlled ease.
Calm on the surface, he carried a quiet, possessive intensity that filled the space between them.
Silence settled not comfortable, but calculated.
“Mr. Manson,” Brett said again, his voice quieter now, almost cautious.
“May we… know why you invited us?”