Love, Lies and Billionaires

“What the fuck did you tell Maren?”

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Irene asked absentmindedly as she put a pot of water on the gas and turned it on.

“I demand you tell me what you told Maren, that she refused to speak with anyone.”

Irene turned away from him and turned off the faucet to wash some vegetables. He waited patiently, watching her back as she worked. She finally turned to him and placed the bowl on the counter.

She raised her eyes to meet his face. “What don’t you go ask the bitch herself” she spat and pulled out a knife.

“Like I said, she’s refused to speak with anyone, plus I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

Alexander sat behind the counter and watched Irene’s knife slice the veggies slowly.

From where he sat, he observed that her actions were slowed and her face confirmed that she wasn’t okay, with reddened eyelids and bags beneath them.

She was quiet, which was so unusual for her and she wasn’t scared one bit when she found him in her house and that made him decide to go easy on her.

“This is your cue to speak Irene, I believe that’s how a conversation works”

‘Crunch!’ the knife made a large cut “First, you break into my house as usual and then you ret to force a conversation. What do you want from me, Alexander?” She asked, keeping her eyes on the carrot she had just begun to chop.

“Would you just answer the question and stop trying to play victim?” Alexander said, raising his voice a little.

“Victim?!” She stabbed the knife onto the chopping board and turned to him sharply. “I’m playing victim? But I’m the same person who got used, fell in love like a fool and still got played with! And I’m not the victim?” She half screamed.

“I am not someone you’d come to only when you need someone to carry out your dirty bidding, Alexander. I am not your whore, I am not your pawn, alright? This is my house and I’ll have conversations when and with whom I choose!”

She narrowed her eyes at him, raging, then turned to the pot whose water had begun to boil.

Alexander smirked and rested on the counter. “I see what this is about. It’s about William, isn’t it?”

Irene angrily dumped raw pasta into the pot of boiling water and waited for it to go all in before putting on the lid. “Isn’t that what this is all about?” She asked. “You’re here for the gossip. More words for you to say when next you’re interviewed about William’s death?” she said.

She scoffed wickedly. “You know, I was angry when William told me you guys used to be friends. You are the worst person to be friends with. Alexander, you set him up, you stole his fiance and then killed him. Then you go about taking glory and fame at those talk shows and news where they ask you for your opinion about his death.”

By this time, her chest was raising and falling faster than normal. She pulled out the knife, which she had stuck into the chopping board, and resumed her cutting.

Alexander folded his arms while maintaining his smirk. “I really like the fact that you exempt yourself from all what you just said when, in fact, you were the sole origin of it.”

“If you hadn’t come to me, you would be standing in my kitchen spilling shit from your fucked up mouth. If you had just gone ahead with your plan with me being in it, we won’t he having this conversation, Alexander”

“If you ask me, I’d say I did you a favour. I mean, you did find love, didn’t you?”

“And you ended up killing him, didn’t you?” She spat, cutting out the last of the bowl of veggies. “You are a selfish son of a bitch, Alexander, a coldhearted monster! And if you ask me, you’d look better laying in a casket than William”

With that, she turned back to her cooking, leaving Alexander, who seemed like he was thinking.

“I really am not here to point fingers or exchange irrelevant words with you,” he finally said and heard her let out a sarcastic scoff. “I just need to know one thing. What exactly did you tell Maren?”

“And like I said, go ask your little harlot of a wife. I think she’d explain it better,” she says, her back still turned to him.

In a blink of an eye, too quick for Irene to think of a counter, Alexander walked over to the other side of the counter, picked up the knife before turning Irene to face him and placed the knife half an inch away from slicing her neck.

Irene didn’t flinch.

“You really don’t have to be stubborn about everything, Irene,” he warned, veins building at the sides of his neck.

Irene stared back at him, her eyes looking directly into his without blinking as she stayed quiet. Her lips slowly curled up into a smile. “Oh, I see what this is about, you’re scared!” she spat, but Alexander stood his ground, maintaining the distance of the knife.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

“You really have no balls, do you? You’re scared I ratted you out to your goody two shoes of a wife.” She said, amused that she could read him for the first time and indirectly knew something he didn’t want out.

She chuckled. “All mighty Alexander fucking Blackwood is actually a fucked up pussy” Alexander stayed quiet but his impatience was gradually pushing him forward. “Now that’s something I’d like to rat about.”

“Just answer the fucking question!” He thundered.

“I’m not scared of you, Alexander. I can see you’re not scared to pick up a knife one more time and kill me the way you killed William. Go ahead…”

She shut her eyes and shuddered as Alexander had edged the knife close enough to her neck that she could feel it on her skin.

“Answer the fucking question!”

She inhaled shakily and tried so hard not to swallow. “Why will I give Maren the pleasure of knowing now when I could just watch her find out that you are a fucking psychopath?”

Alexander gritted his teeth and stared at her for a while before letting her go and tossing the knife into the sink.

Irene held her neck as she leaned on the counter and watched him walk towards the door.

“Why don’t you stay for lunch? I’ll try not to kill you first,” she said as he slammed the door behind him.