Chapter 4: Tantrum

MIA'S POV

That was fast,” I muttered.

“You’re trending worldwide,” he said, completely unfazed.

“Do they always come up with hashtags like it’s a game?” “They did the same when my ex left me.”

My eyes snapped to him. “Who?”

He didn’t answer.

I took a slow breath. “This is what I signed up for, right? Scandal. Judgment. Strangers decide who I am before I can say a word.”

“Yes,” he said. “And you’re handling it better than expected.”

A compliment? Maybe.

But coming from him, it sounded just as a performance review.

As I got up to put my mug in the sink, I paused, then turned back toward him.

“You can do this on your own, you know,” I said. “Pretend. Smile. Show up in tuxedos. You didn’t need me.”

He stood, slowly, like a wolf rising from stillness.

“I don’t smile,” he said. “You don’t trust anyone either.”

“Exactly.”

His gaze pinned me in place. “That’s why I chose you, Mia. Because you’ve already lost everything, and now you have nothing left to fake.”

I wrapped my hands together, clenching it tightly.

Because, somehow, that was the most honest thing anyone had said to me in weeks.

~~*~~

I’d never known silence could be so loud. In Xander Blake’s penthouse, the walls didn’t echo, they judged.

Every step I took sounded like an intrusion. Every breath felt like I had to ask for permission. The place was too clean, too cold. Like it had never been lived in. Like the man who owned it didn’t know how to.

And maybe he didn’t.

He barely spoke. When he did, it was clipped. Precise. Efficient.

I didn’t know if it was his defense mechanism or just his nature, but either way, it stung.

Because I, apparently, was part of a transaction. A business arrangement he could clock in and out of.

Not a woman. Not a person. Just a placeholder with a signature and a smile.

That night, I tried to cook.

Not because I wanted to impress him. God no.

I really needed something real I could hold in my hands, something I could control.

The kitchen was the kind you see in magazines but never in memories. No spice racks. No clutter. Just cold counters and sharper knives.

Still, I managed to whip up something decent: pasta with garlic and a hint of basil I’d found buried in the fridge like a forgotten secret.

I dished it into the plate and left it on the island for him.

He walked in hours later, loosening his tie which hung around his neck, sleeves rolled, tension in every line of his posture, I didn’t expect gratitude. But I didn’t expect indifference either.

“What is this?” he asked, staring at the bowl.

“Dinner,” I replied, drying my hands on a towel. “You don’t live on black coffee alone, do you?”

“I don’t eat carbs after six.”

I blinked. “It’s ten p.m.”

He took off his jacket, tossed it onto the back of a chair. “Exactly.”

“I wasn’t trying to be your chef.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

The words hit me harder than they should have. I stood there, half-fuming, half-hurt, pasta cooling behind me.

“Why did you even ask me to move in?” I snapped. “You clearly don’t want company.”

He finally looked up, expression unreadable. “Because I don’t trust anyone who hides. If you’re going to pretend to be my wife, I need you in plain sight.”

“So I’m a liability you keep close?” “You’re a contract I intend to fulfill.”

The words were a slap disguised as formality.

I stared at him. “You know, you’re not the only one who lost something.”

He didn’t blink. “No. But I’m the only one who didn’t pretend to want love.”

I turned away before he could see the heat in my eyes.

Because if I stayed, I would scream. And this penthouse? It didn’t have space for messy things like emotions

Only walls.

Cold, immaculate walls.

~~*~~

I thought this penthouse had no room for surprises nor emotions, not until I looked up from the sofa. A woman stood in front of me, eyes sharp as glass.

“Who are you? And how the hell did you get in here?” My voice cracked through the silence.

Her lips curled. “Who I am? Really, Mia? Don’t think just because Xander lets you stay here, you can claim him.”

“Get out!” I snapped, rising to my feet.

She laughed, bitter. “Xander will only ever love me. I am his fiancée. I’m back to take what’s mine.” She turned, then paused.

“Oh, and I still have the key, not just to his house but  his bedroom.”

The door clicked shut. My hands shook as I searched her name—Vanessa. His ex-fiancée.

My heart leaped. Many questions flooded into my mind.

Later that night, I decided to ask him these questions that kept bothering me directly rather than turning to the left then right side of the bed.

But just as I approached his room, I heard it, low, hoarse, that kind of sound someone makes when they’re trying not to drown in their own mind.

I didn't intend to eavesdrop but the sound was so audible, making me curious as I was a few steps away from his room, I thought I heard wrong.

But then I paused mid way, because the noise wasn’t coming from the city outside or the pipes inside.

It was coming from behind his door.

Xander’s.

I shouldn’t have moved closer.

But I did.

And what I heard made every muscle in my body lock in place.

“Stop—no, don’t—Jack—!”

His voice wasn’t smooth this time. It was raw. Uncontrolled. He was gasping now, struggling against something that wasn’t there, something only he could see.

There was silence, then a low, broken groan. One word.

“Please.”

It wasn’t a word I ever imagined coming out of his mouth. Not like that.

And then…

Glass shattering.

I jumped.

I almost entered as my hand reached instinctively for the door, fingers trembling, heart thudding like it could jump out at any moment.

But I didn’t.

Instead I stood there, still yet listening to a man I barely knew   in the dark.

Until the room fell silent again.

And the only sound that could be heard was the distant ticking of the clock that never slept.

And I stood there, wondering what it meant that the whole world wanted to know who I was…

…when I was still trying to figure out who he really was.