~Alexander's POV~
As the maid started to turn toward the stairs, I stepped forward, my voice dropping into a tone that left no room for debate.
"Stop," I commanded. "None of you dare wake him up."
The maid froze in her tracks. I turned back to my mother, my gaze level. "He's in his husband's house, and he has the right to wake up whenever he wants. I am not complaining, so you shouldn't be either."
My mother inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. "I see. You've learned to talk back to me now… all because of him."
"No, Mom. I'm asking you to leave my husband alone. Let him enjoy his morning and do as he pleases."
"Fine!" she shouted, standing up abruptly. "If you're going to speak to me like this, then I'll pack my things and leave immediately. I'll call your father and tell him that his only son humiliated me and forced me out of his own home."
I was so tired of the drama, so tired of the threats. I didn't even blink. "That's better. Just go and pack your things. Go back to your husband's house and leave mine alone."
My mother looked at me in pure disbelief, her jaw dropping. The room went deathly silent. Then, her face crumpled. Tears began to stream down her face, real or not, they were effective.
"I only have you," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "I have only one son, and I cannot believe this is what I get in return for all my years of devotion. To be thrown out like trash..."
She started crying harder, her shoulders shaking. Seeing her like that, the old guilt flared up in my chest. I felt the familiar pull of responsibility, the weight of being the "good son" dragging me down. I sighed, my anger evaporating into a weary sadness. I walked closer to her, reaching out to steady her.
"Mom... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that. Please, stop crying."
I stayed there for a moment, my hand on her shoulder as she continued to weep into her silk handkerchief. Beside her, Clara remained silent, but I could see her watching me with an expression that masqueraded as concern but felt entirely rehearsed.
"I just want what's best for you, Alexander," my mother choked out between sobs. "I didn't come here to be an enemy. I came because I want you to be happy."
"I know, Mom," I said quietly. "I'm happy, mummy. Truly. You don't need to worry about me."
I tried to calm her, apologizing until my voice grew hoarse. At last, her resistance gave way. She wiped her tears, straightened herself, and the chaos she had stirred slowly came to an end.
Just then, the sound of slow, steady footsteps echoed from the staircase. I turned, and my breath hitched. Alistair was standing there, dressed in a silk robe, his hair slightly tousled from sleep. He looked beautiful, but his expression was unreadable as he took in the scene: me, standing over my mother, holding her hand while she played the victim.
He didn't say a word. He just stood on the bottom step, his eyes moving from my hand on her shoulder to the tears she was wiping on her face.
"Hey baby," I started, stepping back from my mother instinctively as I saw him. "You're awake."
I walked toward him, the heavy atmosphere of my mother's tears dissipating the moment I reached his side. I reached up, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Did you sleep well?"
Alis gave me a sweet, sleepy nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, I did," he murmured. He reached out and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close as he looked up at me. "And you? Did you sleep well?"
"Better than ever," I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips as I playfully bopped his nose with my finger.
I leaned down, my voice dropping to a private, concerned whisper. "What about your body? Any soreness? Any pain?"
Alis hugged me a little tighter, hiding his face against my chest for a second. "Just a little," he confessed, "but I'll be fine." He pulled back slightly, his expression turning curious. "What happened earlier? Between you and your mom?"
"It's nothing, honey. Don't worry about it," I said, trying to shield him from the drama.
He pouted, his lower lip poking out in that way that always made my heart melt. "I hope it's not about me..."
"No, baby," I promised, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to his forehead. "I promise."
He leaned his head against my shoulder. "I'm craving hot curry soup, Alex. The kind you make."
I couldn't help but grin. Even with the help around us, he still wanted my cooking. "Then that's what you'll get. We'll head to the store together and get everything I need to make it for you. Okay?"
"Okay, baby," he nodded happily.
"Kiss, baby?" I asked, tilting my head.
He leaned forward without hesitation, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. It was a moment of pure, domestic peace that made the rest of the room vanish.
"I should go and greet your mother," he said gently as we pulled apart.
We walked over to the dining area together. My mother looked perfectly fine now, the tears dried and her composure restored as if she hadn't just been threatening to leave minutes ago.
"Good morning, Mom," Alis said politely.
She didn't speak, only offering him a tight, forced smile before looking back at her tea. Clara, sitting beside her, didn't even lift her eyes to acknowledge Alis's presence.
My husband, however, didn't seem to care; he didn't even bother to look Clara's way.
"Let's go change," I said, taking his hand. As we turned toward the stairs, my mother's voice called out behind us.
"Alexander."
I stopped and looked back. Alis squeezed my hand gently. "I'll go upstairs first," he murmured.
"Okay, babe," I said, kissing his cheek before he turned and walked up the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, I turned back to my mother. "Yes, Mom?"
"Where are you going?" she asked, her eyes searching mine.
"I need to get a few things personally," I replied vaguely. I wasn't about to tell her I was going grocery shopping like a normal husband; she'd only find a way to criticize that, too.
"I see," she said.
"Alright, Mom. I'll be back," I said, turning away before she could dig any deeper.
I headed upstairs and we both got dressed in something comfortable for the outing. When we stepped back downstairs, I noticed Clara was already standing by the door, dressed differently than she had been at breakfast.
"Mom, we're leaving now. We'll be back in a while," I said, guiding Alis toward the door.
"Clara will be going with you," my mother said calmly, not lifting her eyes from the magazine. "She has a few things she needs to pick up as well."
I felt Alis stiffen beside me. I kept my voice steady. "That's fine. You can tell the driver to take her instead."
Suddenly, Clara spoke up, her voice soft but insistent. "No, Alex. I prefer to go with you."
I felt the air in the foyer grow thin. Alis didn't say a word, but his hand tightened in mine. He didn't have to speak; I could feel the silent plea vibrating through his skin.
I looked at Clara, then back at my mother. "Clara, it's just a quick run to the grocery store. You'd be bored. It's better if the driver takes you to the mall instead."
"I don't mind the grocery store," Clara said, stepping closer, her perfume cloying in the small space. She offered me a sweet, practiced smile. "I actually enjoy shopping for food. Besides, your mother mentioned you might be busy later, so this is the only time I'll get to catch up with you."
"Alexander," my mother added, her voice carrying that sharp edge of authority again. "Don't be rude. Clara is a guest in this city. It's only natural she wants to spend time with someone she actually knows."
I looked at Alis. His face had gone neutral, that "mask" he wore when he was protecting himself. It broke my heart. This was supposed to be our time, the soup, the shopping, the recovery from the night before.
"Actually," Alis said, his voice smooth and cold as silk. He finally looked at Clara, his eyes sharp. "Alex and I have a lot to discuss. Private things. I'm sure you wouldn't want to be the third wheel in a conversation about our marriage, would you?"