Chapter 4

CATALINA POV

The smell of garlic and butter filled the small but elegant kitchen. Catalina stood by the stove, stirring a pot of soup. Steam rose, warming her face as she tasted a spoonful.

Perfect.

She moved to chop some vegetables, her movements precise and unhurried. Cooking had always been therapeutic for her—one of the few things that calmed her mind.

Then the front door burst open.

Catalina’s hand jerked, the knife slipping from her fingers and clattering against the cutting board. She spun around, eyes wide.

Essen.

She was not expecting him to be home early. Now they had to eat dinner together even though she knew he was probably wishing she was in her room or something.

But he looked different as if he ran here.

He stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling as if he had just run a marathon. His sharp gaze swept over the room before settling on her.

For a moment, he just looked.

Then, as if realizing how frantic he must have seemed, he straightened, schooling his expression into indifference. His usual cold mask slipped back into place.

“You’re here,” he said flatly.

Catalina frowned, tilting her head. Where else would she be?

His eyes flicked to her phone on the counter. He strode over and picked it up, turning the screen toward her.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

She blinked.

It was on silent.

She reached for her notepad, scribbling quickly: “Cooking. Didn’t hear it.”

Essen exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

He said nothing. Instead, he tossed the phone back onto the counter carelessly. “Next time, check your phone,” he said as calmly as Essen King could.

Catalina nodded.

Essen never showed his emotions outright. He was always composed, in control with other people. But when it comes to her, they had this weird awkward session except in rare moments like just now, when he had stormed in like the world was ending.

She studied him. His tie was slightly loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone. A rare sight to see him in.

Whatever had happened today had shaken him.

But what was that?

Yet she knew he wasn’t going to talk about it. Not that they talked about anything apart from when they had to.

They were practically roommates.

When he said nothing more, she let it go, turning back to the stove even though she could feel him watching her.

Essen watched her for a moment longer before he spoke again. “I’m going to freshen up.”

Without waiting for a response, he walked past her, heading toward his bedroom.

Catalina let out a slow breath.

She continued with her cooking.

By the time Essen returned, freshly showered and dressed in a comfortable black shirt, dinner was already set on the table.

Catalina had plated everything neatly, just as she always did for him. She cooked for him, but they rarely have to eat together.

The warm aroma of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetable soup filled the dining room. It was quiet, save for the soft clinking of silverware as Essen took his seat.

Catalina placed a glass of water in front of him before sitting down across from him.

She barely touched her food, stirring the soup with her spoon.

“You’re not eating,” he remarked, taking a bite.

She didn’t react.

His jaw tensed.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Silence settled between them again. Essen continued eating, acting indifferent, but his mind was elsewhere. The video. The message.

Who is she to you?

His grip on the spoon tightened.

His appetite was gone.

Catalina, still lost in her own thoughts, didn’t look at him.

He didn’t know what annoyed him more—that she barely acknowledged his presence or that she didn’t question why he had barged in like a madman earlier.

Most wives would have asked.

Then again, Catalina wasn’t like most wives.

Not like he was like most husbands.

Most husbands would hug their wives and kiss them. Not him. He didn't even ask about her day because it would be more strange doing that than not asking at all.

Their marriage wasn’t like most marriages.

After a few more minutes, Essen pushed his chair back. “I’ll be in my study.”

She didn’t stop him.

He walked away without another word, leaving Catalina alone at the table.

She finally ate her first bite.

But stopped as she remembered the strange encounter she had on her way back from work.

Catalina stared at her plate, her fingers lightly gripping the spoon, but her mind was elsewhere.

The truck had come out of nowhere.

She had been driving home, the streets mostly quiet, when the blaring sound of a horn had made her slam the brakes. A massive truck had swerved, barely missing her car by inches.

Her hands had clenched the steering wheel, her breath caught in her throat.

Then, the driver had stepped out. A man with wild eyes and an eerie grin.

He had laughed. Loud and unhinged. Then, just as suddenly, he had climbed back into his truck and sped off, leaving her frozen in place.

She had sat there for a long moment, her heart pounding.

The encounter on the road still lingered in her mind, the image of the truck driver’s crazed grin refusing to fade.

Her fingers tightened around the spoon.

Coincidence or not, it unsettled her.

The air in the house was quiet, heavy. Essen had gone to his room, and she had assumed he wouldn’t come back out for the night. It was better that way.

She exhaled slowly, reaching for her glass of water.

A shiver ran down her spine.

“Catalina.”

The deep voice cut through the silence like a blade.

She jerked violently.

The glass slipped from her fingers, shattering against the floor.

Silence.

She stared at the broken shards, her breathing uneven.

A sharp gasp left her lips as water splashed onto the table, shards of glass scattering across the floor.

Her heart pounded, her breath uneven.

Essen stood by the doorway, his expression unreadable, but his sharp gaze locked onto her.

For a moment, neither of them moved until she bent down to pick the glasses.

Then, without a word, he strode forward.

Before she could react, he reached for her hand. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her before she could instinctively try to pick up the glass.

She blinked up at him.

He exhaled, gaze flicking to the mess on the floor. Then, as if realizing he was still holding her, he released her wrist and straightened.

"Don't touch it."

His voice was calm. Controlled.

Catalina swallowed, nodding.

A minute passed before he stood.

Essen exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

His cold eyes met hers. "Be careful next time."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing into his bedroom.

Catalina stood up, her chest rising and falling. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She stared at the spot where he had been, her pulse still unsteady. Not because of the broken glass. But because of him.

She didn't know who was more of an asshole.

The crazy truck man.

Or her supposed husband.