"Are you going to just stand there and scowl at the cars?"

Sofia jumped hearing the deep voice.

Whirling around, she faced an amused looking Max standing at the open door.

His words took her back to last night, when she stood at the door looking at this house for the first time. The only thing different was his tone, which was considerably calmer now.

His arms were crossed as he stood leaning against the door frame. Sofia noticed his sharp jaw—shaded with a light stubble, the bags under his eyes and disheveled hair. He looked tired and sleep deprived.

Keeping the door open, he straightened up and walked in.

Sofia followed him inside quietly. The soft click of the door locking was the only audible noise as she closed it behind her. Deciding to cook some pasta she walked towards the kitchen. She could clean up and change later, the most crucial thing now was to silence her hungry stomach.

"There's pizza in the freeze."

She jumped again.

Max was surprising her in every step, pun intended. Why was he still awake anyway? It was quite late at night.

She had thought if he stayed back at work till late, two birds would be killed with just one freaking stone—she would be able to avoid running in to Max and use the time to work hard to make her way to that one million.

She located him on the sofa, hunched over his laptop, looking away after briefly glancing at her direction. She turned around and started towards the kitchen again while stating over her shoulder, "I would prefer homemade food. I'm going to cook pasta, you want some?"

It seemed bizarre that they were talking almost normally to each other. The coldness was there, however, very much palpable in the air between them.

"You don't need to cook. I've ordered from city's one of the best five star restaurants. They make fantastic pizza and cheese steak—much more delectable than what all the other minor and cheap diners offer."

Sofia halted midstep.

Much more delectable!

Minor and cheap diners!

Was he provoking her? By belittling the food she cooked, by insulting her diner—the place that was so dear to her heart, the career which was more a passion.

She recalled that night when Neil tricked Max into visiting her diner. His despise towards the food she cooked had been so blatant then, and she was not blind to not realize that it procured almost entirely from the disdain he felt towards her.

"Then why don't you quietly enjoy your delectable pizza while I enjoy my pasta, however it is, in peace?" She countered defiantly.

Max raised a brow. "I've already eaten," he added, "My pizza."

And a part of her wanted to make a face at this stage to see how much it infuriated him.

But then, the other, bigger part of her just wished to not prolong any argument or conversation or anything with him. Concluding the later, bigger part was smarter she chose to go with it.

Besides, if she got into an argument with him over a silly issue like pizza vs. pasta now, there was risk that it would seem friend-ish and even couple-ish in one dish. The oddity of the whole thing rhyming aside, she had to keep in mind that she could never ever even be his friend again, let alone becoming a spouse.

He had made all of that pretty clear since the day he returned from London.

Hell, after yesterday, she herself wouldn't even take him back as a friend.

She turned around, determined to end this right now. "Problem solved then," she simply said and left for the kitchen.

She was in the middle of putting a pot filled with water on the stove, when she heard footsteps stop at the kitchen doorway.

What the hell was wrong with this man? Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

"Ahem...," he cleared his throat.

Sofia didn't look up, though she had a mad urge to throw the pot aiming his head. She didn't even care that she was slicing a juice out of the tomatoes on the chopping board. Some kind of a tomato salad it was going to be.

And she could feel his eyes boring into the side of her face.

Getting angrier she stirred the boiling pasta with vigor. Some water toppled out making her huff.

Oh, how hard it was to hold back rage.

She was seething inside, and the robust emotion poured out all over her cooking skills that she was unwillingly exhibiting to her new husband. And what a case her husband was! After humiliating her publicly in a party, after marrying her like that, declaring she was a gold digger, after messing up everything in her life—what was he trying to do now? Provoke her into a foolish banter?

He began speaking a while later, his tone turning into a ruthless one, "I had a talk with Neil at work."

For some reason he put immense pressure on the talk word, it seemed as though he was saying it through gritted teeth.

Sofia hoped the poor guy, Neil, survived the bulldozer. However, she couldn't say for sure at the moment—who turned out to be the poor guy and who the bulldozer in real.

When Sofia stayed quiet, Max continued, somewhat irately. "He said some improper things that I really don't appreciate, and I find it necessary now that I warn you to step aside and stop putting poison in us brothers' relationship."

That was it.

Sofia exploded, in an eerily frozen way, "Don't worry, I would rather put poison in your food instead."

She bit her cheek in suppressed anger and distress, not bothering to explain her innocence here. He would not believe her anyway. So what was the point?

"And that is why I would prefer take outs from a decent, reputed restaurant always than food cooked by you," Max said sardonically. "I have full faith in you to commit such an act."

Sofia smiled a bitter smile. "You can bet your last penny on it, of course."

After that, they fell into a long silence. A kind of silence where one can hear lava boiling in the atmosphere clearly.

Now that Max was done delivering his new accusation and threat, Sofia had thought he would leave. But then, proving her wrong he grunted, muttered something under his breath, strode towards the counter, slammed something hard down next to her chopping board, and stormed out the kitchen.

For a long moment, Sofia stayed gaping at the kitchen door. When she recovered, her eyes shifted down to what he had slammed down on the counter.

A bottle of painkillers.