black luxury car stopped in front of the house. The moment you stepped out, the front door opened. He was already there — Alexander Deveraux, still in his suit, tie loosened, expression unreadable.

"Where were you.” Not a question. A statement.

You tried to smile, hiding the small paper bag behind you.

"Show me.”

You froze. He took a step forward, voice calm but heavy.

“You went there again, didn’t you?”

You lower your gaze. Silence.

"Street food.” A low exhale, jaw tightening. "How many times?”

You try to explain, but he cuts you off.

“Do I not feed you well?" “Or do you just enjoy disobeying me?”

You look up, startled. His tone isn’t loud — it’s sharp, controlled. He steps closer, eyes softening just slightly.

"You could get sick. You know that.”

He reaches out, taking the bag from your hand. He sighs, sets it down.

“Next time you want something, you tell me. I’ll get it for you.” He looks straight into your eyes.“But don’t ever lie to me again.”

He turns away, voice quiter

"Go wash up. Dinner’s waiting.”