Chapter 4 A Train Wreck
In the back of the house, a large pool shimmered under the afternoon sun, reflecting the sky like a glass mirror. Beyond it stretched a vast garden—rows of manicured bushes, splashes of flowers, everything beautiful enough to calm anyone.
Anyone except Harold.
Harold stood there like he had just witnessed a crime. His chest heaved, his hands trembled, and his eyes were so wide they looked painful.
“Didn’t you say you got divorced after five years of marriage?” he demanded, voice shaking. “Now you’re telling me you married my cousin?”
Mia nodded with soft, innocent sincerity. “Yes, I did.”
Harold dragged both hands through his hair—hard—like he was trying to restart his entire brain. “And you’re telling me he married you because he couldn’t find a woman willing to marry him due to his bad reputation?” His voice climbed, the shock now bordering on anger.
“Yes,” Mia said again, nodding with calm, serious certainty.
Harold’s whole body jerked in disbelief. He took a dramatic step toward her, pointing at her with pure panic.
“Mia! Mia—my brother is not stupid! He doesn’t lack women!” he cried. “If he didn’t want to marry, he has a thousand escape routes! He wouldn’t sacrifice his life like this! He wouldn’t walk away from one train wreck only to marry another!”
Mia’s expression snapped.
“HEY! Who are you calling a train wreck?!”
Harold flinched so hard it looked like someone had thrown cold water on him. His shoulders jerked up, eyes widening as he stammered, “T-That’s not the point!”
He took a deep breath, puffed his cheeks out, then pointed at her again with renewed frustration.
“What I’m saying is—you fell into his trap! My brother set you up!”
Mia stared at him as if he had just spoken in an alien language. “A trap? Why would anyone set a trap for me?”
A small, coy smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m not even that special,” she said, voice soft and slightly playful.
“What would someone like him even want from me? I don’t have anything—I'm practically homeless, penniless.” She gave a tiny, self-deprecating laugh, as if the idea were laughable.
She closed her eyes, shaking her head in total disbelief. “No. No, no—impossible. Absolutely not possible.”
“It’s possible—” Harold began, but before he could continue, Alexander’s calm, commanding voice cut through his.
“Mia?” he called out.
Mia’s head turned immediately, her body stiffening.
Alexander was standing across the pool, his tall figure framed by the sunlight pouring through the glass doors. His gaze was fixed on her.
“Mom’s asking for your help choosing the jewelry for tomorrow’s party.”
Mia straightened instantly and hurried toward him, her steps quick. She barely got close when Alexander reached out, his hand catching her wrist. In one smooth, practiced motion, he pulled her into him—her body colliding softly with his chest. His hand settled at her lower back.
His eyes flicked briefly toward Harold, the corners of his mouth tightening into a faint, disdainful line.
Then, without a word, he turned back to Mia and guided her into the house, his arm still resting possessively at her back.
***
The atmosphere at lunch was tense—thick enough to feel. The faint clinking of cutlery was the only sound breaking the silence.
Harold’s gaze followed Alexander’s every move. Every flick of his wrist, every glance toward Mia. His jaw flexed, barely hidden beneath his polite expression.
Meanwhile, Mia sat next to Alexander, her posture upright but cautious. She watched him quietly as he reached for the serving dishes. He spooned plain white rice, boiled vegetables, and chicken onto her plate. Everything bland. She frowned as she stared down at the plate, then up at him.
A dish of spicy chili prawns sat temptingly close. The rich aroma filled the air, and a hint of steam curled upward from the glossy red sauce. At once, she reached for it.
But before she could grab the serving spoon, Alexander’s hand moved. His palm wrapped around her hand, halting her mid-motion.
Her breath caught as her eyes flicked up to him.
He didn’t let go. Instead, he guided her hand gently away, keeping her hand captured in his. His thumb rested lightly against her knuckles.
“Don’t eat spicy food,” he said quietly. “It’ll hurt you again at night, just like yesterday.”
Mia’s lips pressed together in displeasure, her shoulders stiffening slightly. Still, she didn’t argue. She accepted the plate he slid to her, her eyes following him discreetly as she picked up a spoon to start eating.
Across the table, Harold’s expression tightened with visible annoyance as he looked at Alexander.
He leaned back in his chair, his fork spinning between his fingers before he said lazily, “If Mia doesn’t like something, why are you forcing yourself on her?”
Alexander’s eyes flickered to Harold—cold and dark, the kind of look that silenced a room.
It was very obvious from Harold’s tone that he wasn’t talking about Mia not liking the dish.
Mia, oblivious to the undertone, looked at Alexander and immediately nodded her head in agreement with Harold.
Alexander’s eyes shifted back to her. The tension in his jaw eased as he reached out, brushing his thumb across her cheek—lightly, almost tenderly. His voice was calm, but it carried quiet dominance as he responded to Harold. “Don’t worry about it. This is my wife and my private matter.”
Harold’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line. His hand clenched around his fork, stabbing it into his salad with a bit too much force.
Camila, who had been watching the exchange with amused curiosity, broke the tension with a bright tone.
“So, Harold,” she said, smiling, “Who is that girl you like? Where did you meet her?”
Alexander, swirling his hot soup quietly to cool it down, added, with pointed casualness, “Yeah, tell me. I’ll help you.” He set down his spoon and slid the bowl toward Mia, his eyes lifting coldly back to Harold.
Harold exhaled harshly, trying to regain his composure. “She’s stuck somewhere right now. I’m going to wait until she’s out of trouble before I propose.”
Alexander leaned back in his chair, displeasure tightening his jaw. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?” he asked, eyes narrowing at Harold.
Harold, confident now, answered without hesitation. “She’s being harassed by some rich guy who thinks he owns her.”
Alexander’s brow lifted, his gaze icy and filled with warning. “Oh, really?”
“Yes,” Harold answered shamelessly. “He’s always around her. Hounding her, crowding her, controlling her, acting like she belongs to him. It’s pathetic, honestly.”
A faint muscle ticked in Alexander’s jaw, but before he could respond, Mia’s voice—light and unbothered—cut through the air. “Maybe she likes him,” she said, tilting her head with an innocent smile. “Perhaps she prefers men like that?”
All three—Alexander, Harold, and Camila—turned toward her.
Harold blinked, startled.
“I mean,” Mia continued, “he might be handsome, successful, charming…” Her eyes shifted toward Harold as she spoke. “Could it be that he’s rich, well-settled, accomplished?”
Harold’s angry eyes instinctively slid toward Alexander, a flicker of irony in them. No further words were needed—Alexander was all that and much more.
Alexander’s chest lifted slightly, pride flickering in his eyes. A slow, pleased smirk curved his lips as he leaned back, watching Mia with quiet satisfaction.
When Harold didn’t respond, Mia continued nonchalantly. “Then it’s not exactly fair to say she’s in trouble because he’s rich and controlling, is it? Maybe she doesn’t want to be saved.”
Harold frowned, irritation flashing across his face. Mia pointed her spoon at him, her tone soft but firm. “Harold, you can’t just assume things about people like that. Don’t say such bad things about others in the future, alright?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it, his throat tightening.
His ears burned as he muttered reluctantly, “I understand,” his voice tight with restrained frustration.
Camila chuckled warmly. “Our Mia is getting more mature every day.”
Mia’s face brightened. She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling proudly at the praise.
Alexander’s gaze, however, remained locked on Harold. “Haven’t you stayed here long enough? Go back to your house after lunch.”
Harold frowned immediately. “I don’t want to. My parents aren’t home—I’m all alone.” He turned quickly to Camila, softening his tone, almost pleading. “Aunty, can’t I stay here for a few days?”
Camila looked between Alexander and Harold, then shrugged with a light laugh. “It’s up to Mia. If she agrees, it’s fine with me. I’ll be busy with parties anyway, so only Alexander and Mia will be at home.”
Harold’s eyes brightened instantly as he turned to Mia, hopeful.
Mia paused, slightly startled, then smiled. “You’re part of Alexander’s family. Stay as long as you like.”
Harold grinned broadly. “You’re so kind, Mia.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. He set down his utensils with a sharp clink and rose to his feet. His tone was clipped and cold. “I’m done with breakfast.”
Without another glance, he turned and strode away, his back straight, his mood unmistakably stormy.
Mia swallowed, finished the last bite of her meal in a rush, and stood up. She wiped her fingers on a napkin, clutching it briefly before setting it down. Her steps were quick as she headed toward her bedroom, wanting to escape the strange tension clinging to her skin.
She pushed open the door—
And in the very next heartbeat, a strong hand shot out from inside the room, clamping around her wrist.
“Ah—!”
Before she could even react, Alexander yanked her forward, pulling her inside with a force that stole her balance.
She crashed straight into his chest, the impact knocking a soft gasp from her lips. His scent—clean cologne mixed with something darker, warmer—wrapped around her instantly, dizzying her.
Alexander didn’t give her a second to steady herself.