The Alpha's sons

Footstep...

A few Hours Ago (part 2)

“Not much to tell,” she said, trying to keep her focus on the vegetables. “I work, I care for my son, and I run my restaurant.”Kingston chuckled softly. “You seem lonely, Violet. Where is the man in your life?” “I prefer to keep my private life private,” she replied, trying to keep her voice firm.“Are you sure nothing is interesting to share?” Kingston asked, stepping even closer.“There’s plenty to share, but now is not the time,” Violet said, her tone cold. Kingston’s gaze was intense as he circled the kitchen.“Your hands are so skilled,” he observed. “Every cut seems so precise.”Thank you,” Violet said shortly, not trusting him. She moved on to the next step of her work. She marinated a cut of meat in a bowl, adding herbs and spices. Kingston hovered near, his eyes tracking every move.“What is that spice?” he asked.“It’s a mix of my secret ingredients,” Violet replied. “It gives the dish its flavour.”“Secret ingredients, huh? I like secrets,” he said with a sly smile.“Some things are meant to be kept secret,” she answered. As she stirred a simmering sauce, she listened to Kingston ask more personal questions.“Do you have any family traditions in the kitchen?” he asked.“My family always cooked together,” she said. “It is our way of bonding.”“And does that help with your loneliness?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Violet paused, then said, “I have my son, and that is enough for me.”Kingston’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward.“You work hard, Violet. But don’t you ever wonder if there is more to life than just work?” he asked.“Work gives me purpose,” she replied, turning back to the food. “And sometimes, work is all I have.”The kitchen filled with the soft sounds of sizzling pans and clinking utensils as Violet continued her work. She sliced, stirred, and carefully plated the dish. Finally, she set aside a small container and placed it in the refrigerator, as Kingston had asked earlier.“Everything is ready,” she said, stepping back to survey her work. Kingston came over, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the dish.“Let’s see what you’ve done,” he said. Violet watched silently as he examined the food. Suddenly, without warning, Kingston spat on the plate.“What did you say this is?” he sneered. Violet’s face flushed with shock. What do you mean?” she said, her voice trembling.“You call this food?” Kingston mocked, his voice dripping with contempt. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. “ I think I’m hungry for something else that isn't your horrible cooking skills,” he said slowly, licking his lips as if savoring a secret.

Violet’s hands shook as she tried to keep her composure.“What do you want?” she asked quietly. Kingston’s smile was cruel. “I want more than food, Violet. I want to know everything about you,” he said.“That is none of your business,” she snapped.“Is that so?” Kingston replied, leaning even closer. “You hide so much behind your recipes and your work. I wonder if you hide even darker secrets,” he whispered. There was a long, heavy silence in the kitchen as Violet fought back tears.“You have no right to speak to me like that,” she said, her voice breaking.“I have every right,” Kingston replied coolly. “Your food wasn't as good as they say. I expected more.”Violet steadied herself, trying to ignore his mocking tone. “I do my best. I work hard every day for my son and my life,” she said. Kingston laughed softly. “Your best is not enough for me because I'm not interested in your cooking anymore,” he said, his eyes fixed on her. Violet turned away, her heart pounding. The kitchen, once a place of calm and creativity, now felt like a trap.

“Please, just leave me alone,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. Kingston smirked. “I’m not leaving, Violet. Not until I get what I want.”The tension in the room was thick. Violet could barely breathe as Kingston’s words echoed in her ears. She had come to the mansion to cook, but now her work had turned into a battle for her dignity. Every chop of the knife, every stir of the sauce, was punctuated by Kingston’s invasive questions and cruel comments. At last, as the final plate was set, Violet cleared her throat. “I am done here,” she said firmly. Her hands tightened around the strap of her bag as she quickly wiped down the kitchen counter. She had done what she was paid for—cooked, prepped, and stored the extra food in the fridge as requested. There was no reason for her to stay a second longer.

“Leaving already?” Mr. Kingston’s voice slithered through the air, smooth but unsettling. Violet forced a polite smile as she turned to face him. “Yes. I have to pick up my son from school.”He leaned against the marble kitchen island, swirling the glass of wine in his hand. His sharp eyes never left her. “You work hard, Miss Violet. A single mother running a restaurant, taking private chef jobs—must be exhausting.” “I manage.” She reached for her coat.“You could manage better with help.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his lips curving into something that made her stomach twist. “I could help.”Violet didn’t bother responding. She slipped her coat on, grabbed her bag, and walked briskly toward the front door.“I could give you so much more than this little life you’re holding onto,” he called after her. She slammed the door shut behind her. The last time she trusted someone, she ended up with a son; she wasn't foolish enough to make that same mistake twice.

The evening air was crisp as Violet pulled up in front of the school. Parents were still lingering, chatting as their children climbed into cars. She spotted Liam near the steps, his small hands tucked into the pockets of his blue jacket. The moment he saw her, he ran over and climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up with a tired sigh.“How was school?” she asked, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort from Mr. Kingston’s house. Liam shrugged. “It was okay. Mrs. Carter said my drawing was really good.”“That’s great, sweetheart.”He yawned, rubbing his eyes as she drove home. The streets were quiet, the sun already dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows against the buildings.

When they reached the house, Violet’s stomach dropped. The front door was open. She stared at it, her mind racing. She was sure she had locked it that morning. Had she forgotten? Or had someone—“Stay in the car,” she told Liam quickly, her voice firm but calm. She stepped out cautiously, her heart hammering against her ribs. The porch light flickered as she pushed the door open wider, scanning the dimly lit living room. Nothing seemed out of place. The furniture was exactly as she had left it. No broken windows. No sign of forced entry.

Had she been careless? Then she saw it. The wall near the staircase. Deep claw marks ran down the pale blue paint, as though something—or someone—had raked sharp nails across it. Violet’s breath hitched. Liam suddenly tugged at her sleeve. His grip was tight.“Mom,” he whispered. “I hear footsteps.”