The Alpha's False Mate

CHAPTER 8: The Savior and the Enemy

Cloette's POV

“I can’t do that,” I reply. “I need to earn as much money as possible.”

“I’ll have the payroll clerks adjust your working hours so that you’ll be paid for the entire day today,” Mr. Acosta calmly says, reminding me that money isn’t an issue to him. “What can you say?”

I have an inkling where this discussion would be heading to but I’ll keep that assumption to myself and let him flesh out his reason why he wanna spend the day with me.

“I accept it. That’s really nice of you. Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me all the time,” he says. He then loosens his necktie and adds, “Finish your foods so we could talk through.”

Frankly speaking, it’s improper to eat his meal but my stomach is still rumbling for more. Besides, he recommended it himself and I can't tell when I’d be able to eat a decent meal next time. Brushing my self-consciousness aside, I transfer his food to my plate and bowl. This time, I eat with more finesse like what a lady should. I first have the chevene… chevrolet… ugh! I can’t pronounce, let alone read the name of the salad. Having said that, I enjoy it a lot. The saltiness of the cheese is well complemented by the sourness of the vinaigrette and the freshness of the vegetables. Once I finish it, I then shift to the bowl of stew, which name I also can’t pronounce. The veal is so tender and juicy and the butter maximizes the creaminess of the stew. I hope to one day cook these kinds of dishes and serve them to… I glance at Mr. Acosta under my lashes. He’s quaffing the red wine like a professional. When his eyes level to mine, I veer my attention back to the bowl of stew. Mr. Acosta takes an empty wine glass. The burble of wine echos as he pours a small amount of it into the glass. Subsequently, he places it next to my bowl which leads me to look at him again.

“Take it,” he says.

I do as he says but only stare at the glass of wine. I’m not ignorant about wines. I’ve seen several on TV and billboard ads, I just never had one before. In school, we often used rice wines and not European wines in cooking so I don’t really know what to expect once I take a sip from it. I glance at Mr. Acosta who’s staring intensely at me which sends sudden jitters through my chest. His stare controls my next actions. I move the glass close to my nose and its alcohol scent stings my nostrils then quickly hits the back of my throat.

“Uhh! It’s strong. I don’t think I’ll like it.”

The way Mr. Acosta pinches his sultry-looking lips at one corner emphasizes his chiseled shaved jaw. The sight of him is so captivating that I totally shut out the glass of wine in my hand. He leans closer and extends his arm over the table between us.

He says, “To eliminate the foul-smelling compound and release the subtle fruity aroma, you should…”

The second his fingertips nudge mine, an electricity lunges through my flesh which causes me to frantically slide my fingers off his. I unintentionally drop the glass and spill the wine on the white table cloth which encourages the ones near our table to stare at us. Mr. Acosta manages to wear his usual impassive face so I can’t determine whether he felt what I felt or not.

“I’m sorry,” he says with his hand raised. “I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.”

Yeah! He just invaded my personal space. What's scary about it, is that I’m not angry with him doing it. My heart pounds loudly that I can no longer hear what he’s saying. All I see is his mouth opening and closing. I wait until his mouth stops moving before permitting my words to glide from my lips.

“I’m done eating. Uhm… where do we go from here?”

Gradually, the beats in my chest ease and the panic in me evaporates to the thickening air.

“I'll give you a ride to your home. I’ll discuss my offer to you on the way,” he says.

“Got it.”

He calls the attention of a passing waiter and hands him his credit card without even glancing at the bill. When his credit card is returned to him, he tucks it inside his wallet and, without ado, rises from the chair then saunters to the red carpeted stairs. He doesn’t seem embarrassed and I could only hope that he’s not annoyed with what happened. I didn’t mean it, alright. His long strides force me to jog from time to time to keep up with his pace. He doesn’t glance back from the moment we descend from the stairs to the moment he enters his two-seater black car. I stand near it but don’t budge until the door of the passenger seat swings open in an upward direction. Through its quite tinted glass, Mr. Acosta gestures for me to get inside and so I do without any buts or ifs. Just when he’s about to grab the seatbelt on my side, he stops. Following that, he reclines back on his seat, fastens his own seatbelt on before clutching the steering wheel. Needless for any instruction, I shut the door close then buckle up too. The awkwardness is soon tapered by the vibrating and rattling engine after he twists his ignition key.

“Where do you live?” he asks.

Strings of hesitation and embarrassment weave over me. The apartment building where I reside isn’t something to show off to an outsider, especially not to him.

“You can just drop me at the bus station.”

Though he displays a deadpan expression, the way he releases a sharp sigh says that he’s irritated. That influences me to bend my stance.

“I live in Buan Homes, a small apartment building near Quinta Marketplace.”

Slowly losing the courage to glance at him, I set my sight outside the glass. While his high-speed car drives through the spacious tree-lined boulevard, the urge to repeal the quietness wrestles against my timidity. In a few moments, it wins.

“So, what do you wanna discuss?” I ask.

His sight is affixed ahead as he responds, “I’ve decided to finance your father’s hospital bill until necessary.”

My heart flaps beneath my chest and my lips stretch from ear to ear as solace furiously gallops across my entire being. Who would have thought that Lavine Acosta, a man who’s blessed to have everything, would reconsider the request of someone who’s stripped of that everything.

“Thank you so much! You don’t know what it means to me!” I say with uttermost exhilaration. “How can I pay you?”

He considers my question for a moment before answering, “For now, you can do two jobs in my hotel. You’ll receive a payment as a room attendant but not as a chef’s assistant. Understood?”

“Understood! I'll never disappoint you.”

“Too early to tell,” he says, smirking. “If I’m dissatisfied with your performances, then I’ll quit my assistance to your father.”

“Fair enough.”

I recline on my seat without any tension in my body. My cheerfulness couldn’t be tucked away so I flaunt it instead. I giggle and grin and breathe deeply - the reactions I haven’t done in a while.

The ground transitions from solid paved to a bumpy muddy one as soon as we pass by the Quinta Marketplace. The sun isn’t as fierce as it was earlier when we arrive at the apartment and the tiny specks of dust dance in the afternoon sunlight that slants from the adequately dense clouds.

“I can manage from here,” I say.

Mr. Acosta doesn’t seem to hear me, or it’s also possible that he just dismisses me. He gets down from his car while darting his gaze around, obviously disparaging the place which isn’t a surprise. The building is grim and lower-class and there are more garbage bins than cars in the filthy parking lot.

“This is where I live,” I say with a tiny hint of shame.

“Since when?” he asks, his eyes still wandering around.

“About six months ago.”

He tucks his hands inside his pockets and inclines his view to me then says, “Now that you don’t need to pay your father’s hospital bill, I expect that you’d soon leave this place.”

I almost wanna shriek in laughter, but I hold back. I’ll definitely be leaving this place once my landlord kicks me out and I’ll probably spend my nights on the streets starting tomorrow.

“Do you want me to escort you to your room?” he asks.

When I first heard his question, I thought he’s making fun of me but when I look at him, he’s dead serious.

“No, absolutely not,” I chortle.

He nods. His eyes manifest a lot of understanding of where I’m coming from. It’s not that I don’t wanna show some hospitality towards him, it’s just that I’m not comfortable letting someone inside my room, plus I’m not proud with how it looks. After bidding goodbye, he gets back inside his car while I ascend to the stairs. For the first time in what seems to be forever, the chains in my wrists and ankles and neck are disintegrated by a sheet of silver lining. My cheeks and so does my heart blaze as Mr. Acosta’s smile plagues my thoughts. I’m only flicked back to reality when I’m nearing my room. I notice that the padlock is gone. From an amazing feeling of hope to an unforeseen fear, my nerves tweak. As opposed to propelling forward, I take a step back then another and another until I reach the rusty staircase again. But before I could run down back to the second floor, an eerie howl from behind me halts my movement. Alarm slithers my muscles to become unbelievably inflexible. I can’t lift my feet nor glance over my shoulder. The next thing I know, is a sharp smoldering sensation rushes through my left leg which is followed by an excruciating pain that explodes from my mouth. Then, a powerful force yanks me away from the stairs, causing my body to lose its balance before plunging hard against the undusted terracotta floor. Air is knocked out of my lungs while tears gather in my eyes. I gasp while forcing to find out what’s going on. I look around. Shock slams me when I see my leg seized by a huge black wolf with its canines. My eyes widen as tears stream down from them. This black wolf is the same wolf I’ve seen on St. Luke’s rooftop! Its silky black fur, its humongous size and its black-jet soulless eyes. There’s no way I’m wrong! Why is it here?! And why is it attacking me?! Its growl elicits more of an anger than hunger.

“Help me! Anyone, please!!” I cry out loud.

But no matter how loud I scream, nobody helps. There are a few neighbors who open their doors and windows but immediately once the wolf grunts at them, they tremble in fear and shut their doors close again and only peer through their windows, watching me in horror as the wolf drags me. As much as I’m desperate to fight back, the more I move the more unbearable its bite on my leg becomes. Soon, it brings me inside a certain room and only lets go of my bleeding leg when it pushes the door close using its muzzle. Panting and wheezing, I attempt to stand up to escape but the pain from my wound hinders me to act fast. The wolf is too strong that in one attack, I fling and hit my back on a wooden cabinet which resulted in a picture frame splintering to the floor. There, I lay cold. My vision just scarcely sees the photo but the images of a man and a toddler are more than enough to make me realize that I’m inside my room. Wait! What?! The wolf brought me to my room?! Baffled, my quivering wet eyes move towards the direction of the wolf. It’s glowering down at me. Then, agitation runs up and down my spine when, in the spur of the moment, it speaks,

“I told you, I won’t forget you.”

Another rupture of scream from me reverberates in the air when the wolf slowly transitions into a human figure. Every inch of my body shudders in terror when a snickering n.aked stout man stands proud and loud in front of me - Kobe Chua.