The sun nearly blinded her when she opened her eyes. She had forgotten to draw the curtains last night. With a groan, Alex dragged herself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.
Her stomach growled in protest, reminding her that she hadn't eaten the night before. How could she? After all that crying, food had been the last thing on her mind.
One look in the mirror confirmed her fears. Her eyes were swollen, rimmed faintly red. No dark bags, thankfully, but she looked as though she'd gone twelve rounds with her pillow. She splashed cold water on her face, gripping the basin as if it could steady her thoughts.
The memories of last night came rushing back. The despair. The betrayal. The marriage.
But as she inhaled deeply and exhaled slow, something inside her shifted. The despair dulled, replaced by a sharper emotion—resolve.
She would not fight her mother. No. That energy she'd save for him.
The so-called husband. The arrogant jerk who thought money could buy a wife. If he expected some docile, desperate girl… well, he was about to meet the wrong bride.
Alex smirked at her reflection, already plotting. Mischief sparked in her eyes.
By the time she descended the stairs, her cheerful voice rang through the house. "Good morning, Mum!"
Catherine looked up, startled. She had lingered outside Alex's room last night, listening to the muffled sobs through the door. Her hand had hovered over the knob, aching to comfort her daughter. But she hadn't dared—one look at Alex's tears and her own resolve would crumble. So instead, she had wiped away her own stray tear and walked away.
This morning, she expected silence. Cold shoulders. Maybe even defiance.
But Alex's cheerfulness disarmed her.
"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, Mum. Like a baby," Alex replied sweetly as she slid into a chair at the kitchen table. "What's for breakfast?"
"Pancakes," Catherine said, setting a plate down.
Alex drizzled honey generously, humming as she ate. "Thanks, Mum," she said, flashing a smile.
Catherine blinked. It had been a long time since Alex thanked her for cooking. And when Alex followed it up with, "These pancakes are perfect," Catherine nearly dropped the frying pan.
"I like this positivity, Alex," she admitted, a smile tugging at her lips.
Alex beamed, chewing happily, her fork tapping playfully against the plate.
But inside, her thoughts were anything but sweet.
Oh, Mr. Husband. Whoever you are, you'd better be ready. Because you're about to get it hot.