While occurrences of yesterday was still afresh in her mind, she was determined to grab the leash of her life, and get as much as she could of it back in control.

"Simmy, bring out the files and bills of the biggest take-out orders we've received till this day," Sofia ordered, without lifting her eyes from the names she was writing down on a list alongside scribbling down information about the people of that list to a different, new file. "There are more files at the bottom of the shelf, bring them too. And please, stop staring at me like I've grown two heads."

Simmy collected the said dusty files from the shelf and dropped them heavily on Sofia's desk. Dust billowed. But Sofia was uncaring to it except for a couple of nonchalant coughs.

Approximately an hour later, Simmy approached Sofia again, very carefully. "Sofia, why are you having us bring out the bills and files. And why the hell are you making that list with our big-shot customers' names in it? Don't tell me you're going to go 'serial killer' on them!"

Sofia didn't raise her head. She just went to grab another file from the pile Simmy had dropped on her desk. "To say it directly, I'm planning to earn more money, I'm going to extend the business," she said nonchalantly, dragging more of the dusty files closer.

The door to her office was at the moment thrown open, as usual, and she could sense her entire staffs' eager ears listening in.

From the corner of her eye, Sofia could see Simmy wringing her fingers along with opening and closing her mouth a few times. "You have any questions? Ask away."

Sofia's encouragement did the magic. Simmy bounded closer to her desk in a fraction of a second.

But contrary to what Sofia thought, Simmy's question had nothing to do with the business extending.

"I know that you wouldn't appreciate me asking you personal questions but," Simmy huffed, looking like she had decided to be daring rather than timid. "What is this I'm hearing, Sofia? Your aunt said that you've eloped and got married, with the man you were supposed to get married with anyway!"

Sofia froze.

Nonetheless, Simmy continued further, finally letting it all out of her chest, "But I immediately ended the call when that wicked witch began bad mouthing about you, again. And you need to know, Sofia, that I do not believe her. After all, why would you run away with the person you are already betrothed to, that would just be so... weird." Simmy scratched her head at this point, looking expectantly at Sofia. "Right?"

Sofia's mind reeled back to her so called wedding ceremony—less than an hour in the magistrate's office, signing incoherent papers, then getting hauled to her marital home, dismay, tears.

It was nowhere near the adventurous act of elopement people were naming it to be.

But was there any point in divulging it?

In no way that would ever change what had already been done.

"I'm married now, Simmy," Sofia ignored the number of gasps that came from the kitchen outside. The biggest gasp, however, was from Simmy right across her desk, looking like she was one second away from ripping out all her own hair.

"How—when—why!"

"None of that is your concern. Now," With her face perfectly guarded, Sofia recapped the pen in her hand.

Plucking up the list then, she waved it before Simmy's stunned face. "Now, call up or send emails to the people in this list, we're going to run a survey about their satisfaction or the lack of it with our services. At the same time, we're going to inform them that now we're doing catering as well."

Sofia waited in silence. All her staff were still gripped by the shock of the news of her hasty wedding being confirmed. Some girls were even blatantly gawking at her from the doorway, other were nearby too, that she could tell.

Sofia looked at Simmy and even at the faces at the doorway. Her eyes were pleading, asking for solitude.

And slowly, one by one, each one of her staff backed off. Only Simmy stayed.

Some battles were to be kept private.

Simmy sighed at last, taking a step back which was more than a physical movement. And Sofia got it. Her eyes nearly filled up with courtesy.

"We're going to be catering for parties, weddings and occasions," she elaborated, clearing throat and shrugging off the earlier set of emotions.

Getting up to her feet then she crossed her arms and looked at her staff—nearly all of them had spilled into her office. The small space was cramped up with her trustworthy people.

"We're no more just Mary's Diner, but Mary's Diner and Catering. And the pace of making this draft a reality, I'm afraid, ladies, won't be slow."

"Do you know what you're saying, Sofia?" Lila, one of the servers asked in disbelief, but there was excitement too, Sofia noticed. It was the same on the faces of the lot.

"I'm aware of the risks," Sofia nodded softly. "And I'm aware of the tremendous amount of hard work required for this, and we'll have to soon appoint more employees too. But it's not impossible if we all work together and give our best. I've faith in you, girls."

Simmy bounded closer again, with a supportive smile and non-so-gently pat on Sofia's shoulder to which Sofia winced slightly. "And, we've complete faith in our boss lady too."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

The corners of Sofia's lips lifted up into a smile. This moment was not something huge but was a gracious beginning nonetheless. And Sofia could do with this beginning and work her way to that damned million.

On her way back to her new abode, the earlier blast of energy that Sofia had been feeling all day in her veins, she felt all of it slowly fading away. And in the gradually vacating place was settling in dread. Dread of returning to a place that reminded her only of darkness. She didn't want to go back there but she had to. And what she was feeling while driving, it was so much similar to the sadness that people probably felt when they were homeless.

However, Sofia wasn't foreign to this feeling.

She had felt it once before, many years ago, when she had seen her parents being lowered into the graves. No matter how much nightmarish it had been, there was still a home and it was forever lost. Grampa had gathered her sobbing, sagged form then and taken her to live with him, but she knew it was not her home. She hadn't felt like she was being taken to her home. For a long time she felt like that before getting adjusted finally. But now, she doubted she could ever get adjusted to her so called new, marital home any time soon. Before that, she planned to pay the million dollars and get out of that place.

The watchman, she didn't know the name of yet, did that weird salute again and opened the steel gates for her. She steered her Nash Ambassador into the gravel drive way and pulled it over beside the sleek black Mercedes that was shining as the light of lamp-posts fell over it. Max was back from work.

Her face fell.

She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. What was she thinking? Of course, he would return here from work, he was going to live in this house, too, after all.

Locking her car door, she once again scrunched her brows at how dull and vulnerable her car looked resting next to his. This contrast always declared with glaring proof how she didn't belong in his life. Not in the past, not now, not ever.

She was just an unwanted misfit here.

--

"Bloody hell, Neil," Max screamed in agony.

He yanked out his hand from beneath the pile of heavy files which were unceremoniously and quite cruelly dropped on top of his bandaged knuckles.

Files and papers flew about everywhere.

Neil, however, stood indifferent, even looking a bit satisfied.

Clutching his damaged hand's wrist Max sprung up to his feet, his leather chair crashed behind him by the sheer force. "What the fuck is your problem?"

Neil had the nerve to shrug nonchalantly. "I brought the files you wanted."

Bless the desk between them. Or Max would have seriously dashed forward and maimed his cousin.

"And you had to drop all of it on my hand? Couldn't you even see the bandage?"

The mask of nonchalance began falling off Neil's face. "You're lucky that I didn't drop a pile of stones on that hand of yours. Now don't give me that look, I saw Sofia limping just this morning, she looked so utterly morose and you've got a bandage wrapped around your hand. It's easy to put two and two together and unearth what you did after you so blackmailed her to marry you. I'm a lawyer," Neil said, throwing up his hands. "I'm supposed to know these things."

Max looked incredulous. "I don't even know which is more preposterous—you thinking that I punched Sofia in the foot or your indication that her foot is hard enough to bruise my knuckles."

Neil squirmed, some uncertainty in his expression. But the scoundrel was still not ready to back off. "There can be many versions of the scene, but I know for a fact that the basic truth is just one—you've hurt my Sofia."

Blood rushed into Max's brain. "Sofia's not yours, damn it."

But Neil had already turned around and was storming out of his office.

Max yelled, "Come back here and finish this talk."

Rude slamming of the door being shut came as the answer, but then Neil's muffled voice yelled from the other side, "You wouldn't hear a thing about the truth, the reasons anyway, so what's the point?"

True that.

Max would rather break Neil's neck rather than hear another song of praise and false excuses that went in favor of the wicked witch.

Now in the empty room Max pinched the bridge of his nose. It was becoming so very clear that no one was in his team, no one cared for him. That diabolic woman had taken everyone to her side.

He was all alone.

And the realization, for the umpteenth time, didn't sit well with him.

The most pathetic thing, however, was that despite his realization—his understanding about Sofia's deceptions and manipulations, he still couldn't help but feel a part of him melt. Melt for the haunting fear scalding on her face—on all over her features last night. For only a couple moments many things laid bare before his eyes. But it had passed way too quickly and he couldn't concentrate on anything other than the sting of her palm on his cheek.

Max snorted at the memory.

Did she really think he was going to hit her?

Sighing, he turned around and stood leaning against the desk, a shiny shoe clad foot softly kicked the fallen chair. His eyes stared at the blank wall.

He recalled how she'd slid to the floor. She'd made him feel like a beast. She'd thwarted his touch making him feel as though his skin held poison.

He had always believed himself to be the kind of a man who would never raise a hand on a woman, despite his short temper. But Sofia had suddenly made him question himself. The claims in her eyes were that vivid.

More than from her, he had then run away from himself.

It had angered him even more, knowing she still had that power over him to sway his mind according to her will.

Max closed his eyes.

Oh, how he had attempted to find solace afterwards. Anger had almost driven him to sinister lengths, his mind—a place for the devil. He groaned, and sighed out loud, not wanting to go back to that one decision he wasn't really proud of.

But he was a man who had been, honestly speaking, beaten by his wife, that too in his very wedding night. And he couldn't even tell a single soul about it for the absurdity of the entire situation. Neil would surely be in fits if he ever knew, making ten different jokes about his masculinity. It was better that the scoundrel thought he beat the wife, in the foot or wherever, rather than the exact opposite happening in real.

However, he had brought it upon himself, hadn't he?

All the other things aside, he should have kept in mind her encounter with Mevil just a day prior.

His jaw ticked, wondering, if she had now put him in the same category as Mevil.

He shook his head furiously the very next moment though.

Why was he even stressing about what Sofia thought of him?

She was a manipulative hoe, after all. He cringed. Witch casting a spell upon everyone. He cleared his throat. She'd rejected him, stood him up while he stood before her house like a fool to take her to the prom. Yes, how could he forget! And she manipulated his cousin and his father. Yes yes yes. She'd orchestrated the scandal, those photos all over the tabloids were her doing, so that he had no other way but to marry her. And how could he even forget the money his father was to give her, the money—for which she had heinously planned the whole fucking thing.

At last, Max released the long, heated breath stuck in his throat.

His mind and his thoughts and senses back in place.

If he just kept reciting it all, over and over again, he would have no fear while he faced that vile woman again.

Sofia was the venomous arrow to his side, and he must never get used to the pain.

Ironically, pain became Max's prowling companion for the rest of the day.

His secretary dropped a glass on his hand. Mr' Hojo, their new client, accidentally crushed it with his pot belly while giving a man-hug. And when in the courtroom he was having the witness take an oath—the holy bible fell on the now swollen knuckles. Max decided he hated people who chose the bible over the vocal agreement.

It was like the entire universe was plotting against him.

And maybe punching the wall was not a very wise idea after all.

Thankfully though, an icepack got it all under control, somewhat. At least the puffy spots shrank a bit and the throbbing pain turned numb.

Still, it was quite difficult to drive the car. The steering had twice slipped out of control because of his weak grip, but somehow, he managed to get into the gravel way of his new place.

Yes, it was just a place. Not a home. Never his home.

His watchman saluted like a trained soldier and Max gave him a bemused look. "Bean."

"Yes, sir."

"I told you not to stomp up a salute every time you see a person walk past, please remember it."

"Of course, sir."

When he walked through the front door, it seemed eerily empty. With extra cautiousness he peeped into the master bedroom, hating that he had to sneak about his own property like this, but he had no choice, what if Sofia was still cross about last night. Surely, he had just joked, and surely he shouldn't have, considering the Mevil fiasco, but it was also true that the woman was outrageously dim-witted along with being a stuck up master-manipulator and unstoppable gold digger.

Sofia was many things, and so, Max needed to be alert at all times.

Finding the room empty, he peeked into the bathroom.

Other than the lingering scent of her and signs of her using his shampoo even, the coast was clear. There were a couple of long hairs stuck on the shower glass. He made a face seeing that.

Perks of rooming with a woman.

He sighed.

The main thing was, she hadn't returned from work yet.

Good.

He liked the peace her absence brought.

Deciding to take a shower later before going to bed, he just cleaned up and changed into a full-sleeved t-shirt and cotton trousers.

After swallowing two pain-killers to numb the pain of his hand he was about to put the bottle back into the bathroom cabinet, but he paused midway.

Someone else was injured too, and perhaps more than him.

He hadn't seen the extents of her injuries, nor had he given a mind to it yesterday. There was nothing more he could be bothered about other than the game she had played with him—the game she'd always been playing with him. It was necessary that he had the upper hand.

Now his hand was damaged and so was her foot.

And they both needed to revive before diving into the battlefield again. Before he could win, before he could break her to pieces.

For the next half hour he sat in the lounge area downstairs, working, glancing towards the door, saying goodnight to Debbie, then back to working, glancing towards the door.

He waited for the storm he dreaded.

When he got hungry he picked up his phone and ordered a large pizza which should be more than enough for the two. He ate his share and put hers into the freeze. Because while he didn't want it to seem as he was dying to have dinner with her, he was also against the cruelty of locking horns with a starving enemy.

Nearly a couple hours later the familiar break disco of Sofia's infamous car's engine sounded outside.

Thrill shot up Max's spine.

His storm had arrived.

And she had returned quite late.

He grumbled watching the time in his phone. Not that he cared, just like her, he was completely, definitely and naturally uninterested in her damned well-being.