Milan Malpensa Airport buzzed with activity as travelers hurried to their destinations. I stood outside, the warm Italian sun beating down on me, my frustration mounting. My mom had arranged everything for this trip, so why was no one here to pick me up? I pushed my sunglasses up onto my head, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces.

Just as my patience was wearing thin, I spotted Mr. Martin, my mom’s secretary, making his way toward me. Relief washed over me.

“Ms. Isabella!” he called out.

I raised an eyebrow, muttering under my breath, “Thank God.”

“Finally, my mom has sent someone to pick me up,” I said aloud, not bothering to hide my irritation.

Without waiting for a response, I walked briskly toward the car he had arrived in. Mr. Martin hurried to keep up, opening the door for me.

I slid into the back seat with a stern face, choosing to remain silent. He quickly managed my luggage and took his place beside the driver.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the traffic. For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the engine. Then Mr. Martin broke the silence.

“How are you, Isabella? It has been three years since we last met.”

I exhaled, “I am fine, Uncle.”

“You have changed a lot,” he remarked, his eyes briefly meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling over me. ‘Maybe I have,’ I thought, but instead of voicing my thoughts, I asked, “Where is she?”

“Ma’am is at home,” he replied.

His words brought a wave of silence over me.

‘Yes, why would she come? I’ve expected too much from her. She didn’t think to come to the airport herself,’ I thought, bitterness creeping into my mind.

‘Whatever it is, as long as she fulfills my demands, I’ll listen to her.’

I leaned back in my seat, trying to shake off the disappointment. I was tired—tired of the drama, the uncertainty, the endless expectations. Closing my eyes, I sought the temporary escape of sleep.

The gentle motion of the car lulled me, and soon I drifted off, the world around me fading. It felt like only moments had passed when I was pulled from my sleep by Mr. Martin’s voice.

“Miss!”

“Ms. Isabella!”

I cracked my eyes open in irritation and looked at Mr. Martin. He smiled. "We are home."

I slowly got out of the car and gazed at my mom’s mansion. Raising my brows, I entered with a nonchalant face.

As I stepped into the drawing hall, the place seemed oddly empty, though music played softly. Mr. Martin set my luggage down and left without a word. I placed my laptop bag on the couch and called out, “Mom!”

There was no response. Annoyed, I walked over and turned off the music, the sudden silence amplifying my frustration. I looked around, feeling a sense of unease.

“Mom, are you home?” I called again, my voice echoing slightly in the large space.

Just then, I heard a man’s voice behind me. “Isabella!”

I turned back as I heard my name. To my amazement, a half-naked man stood before me. My lips pressed together in shock as my eyes roamed around the room, then back to him, wide with surprise.

It wasn't just his sudden appearance that rendered me speechless. It was how incredibly handsome he was. His abs were chiseled, his muscles and arms were well-defined. His facial features were sharp, like something out of the dark romance novels I devoured. But amidst all this perfection, what struck me most was the bowl he held in his hand.

I narrowed my eyes, puzzled. ‘Is he my mom’s cook?’

I wondered, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. I asked, “You?”

He smiled, a charming, disarming smile. “Ah, I am Ezekiel.”

I narrowed my eyes and raised my brows. “So, when did you join here as a cook?”

He parted his lips to say something but then chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Then he answered me, “Umm… It’s just a few weeks, you can say.”

“Oh…” I crossed my arms, giving him a once-over from bottom to top.

Ezekiel noticed my scrutiny and arched an eyebrow. “Are you done checking me out?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m not checking you out,” I retorted.

“I’m just wondering how my mom ended up hiring such a handsome cook.”

Ezekiel pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath before answering me, “Well, I guess you’ll have to ask her that, and I take it as a compliment, Ms.”

I smiled, feeling a bit lighter. Maybe my time here wouldn’t be so bad after all. The prospect of staying in Italy without my friends had been daunting, but Ezekiel’s presence suggested it might be more interesting than I had anticipated.

“And I would be honored to stay here as your cook rather than your mom’s boyfriend,” he added with a teasing smile.

My smile faded immediately.

Did I hear him right?

“What?” I stuttered, my mind racing.

Before I could process what he had just said, I spotted my mom coming downstairs, dressed in her nightwear.

Seeing me, she called out, “Isabella!”

I was already too shocked after hearing Ezekiel. In that moment, I realized what the surprise my mom had wanted to reveal was. She moved to hug me, but I didn’t hug her back.

I asked directly, skipping any pleasantries, “Who is he? Is this your surprise, Mom?”

Her expression sobered, eyes flicking from me to Ezekiel.

“Isabella, stop it. Come to my room.”

I arched my brows and pulled my arm from her grasp. She was clearly worried I’d cause a scene right there in the foyer. And she was right to worry—I was ready to.

Mom grabbed my hand again, more firmly this time, and said, “Let’s go.”

I looked at her, then at Ezekiel. He smiled at me slightly, but I turned away from him in irritation. I followed her to her room, my mind buzzing with the thing I heard.

Once we were inside, she closed the door and turned to face me.

“What is that behavior, Isabella?”

I crossed my arms, trying to contain my frustration.

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone. And you spring it on me like this?”

She sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“I thought to give you a surprise, honey,” my mom said, her voice pleading for understanding.

I pressed my lips together, trying to sober myself. This was too much to process, and I couldn’t believe what my mom was doing.

“Surprise?” I chuckled mockingly.

“Surprise me with what, Mom?”

I looked directly into her eyes. She sighed heavily, “I am sorry, I know right now you can’t accept Ezekiel as your dad.”

“And you know he has his own business, besides being the heir of a famous university here. He is too perfect for me.”

I was speechless, hearing my mom. She was totally engrossed in this man. It was as if she had completely moved on from everything else.

“Mom, what is his age?” I asked, the question burning inside me. Ezekiel seemed younger than my mom, and I needed to know.

Mom bit her lower lip, hesitating for a moment before she sighed deeply and spoke.

“He is 25 years old.”

“You are f*cking 14 years older than him. How could you do that, Mom? Do you think he will stay with you?” I exploded, unable to contain my fury. The age difference was staggering, and I couldn’t fathom how she believed it would work.

“He is literally 5 years older than me.”

“Not 5 years, Isabella,” Mom corrected me.

“It’s 6 years.”

I arched my brows and replied with even more annoyance, “This month I am going to be 20. So yeah, it’s 5. How can you date a boy so young, Mom?”

“Isabella!” Mom raised her voice, clearly feeling a bit offended. I averted my gaze, unable to look at her.

I wasn’t one of those typical girls who couldn’t accept their mom dating someone. I had no problem with her finding happiness again. But the problem was the absurdity of her dating someone 14 years younger. It just didn’t make sense to me.

“I didn’t think that you would talk like a typical girl,” Mom said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

I arched my brows slightly, feeling the sting of her words. Before I could respond, we heard a knock on the door. Mom quickly regained her composure, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t as good an actress as she was.

Ezekiel cracked the door open. I shot him an angry look.

“Darling, why are you knocking?” Mom said as she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Ezekiel looked at me with a smile, but his eyes told me he understood that Mom had scolded me. I rolled my eyes, turning away from them.

“Kathrine,” he said gently, “I thought it would be good if I knocked. She’s your daughter, after all. You would have some personal talks with her.”

“What?” Mom chuckled.

“We are family. So, there is nothing that I should tell her privately.”

The way she said it made my skin crawl. Was this what she considered family now? A man almost my age playing the role of a father figure?

Mom hugged him, and I watched them closely. Ezekiel looked at me, a hesitant smile playing on his lips as he patted Mom’s back. The sight of their lovey-dovey display made my teeth grit in annoyance.

“At least he has some sense of manners, not like you,” I snapped, unable to hold back.

With that, I turned and walked out of the room. I could hear Mom calling my name, her voice filled with frustration and concern, but I didn’t respond. I needed to get away to clear my head from the overwhelming emotions.

“Isabella!” she called after me, her voice echoing down the hallway.

I kept walking, not looking back. I needed space to process everything.

Ezekiel’s POV.

I was in the kitchen, indulging in one of my favorite hobbies... cooking. After a hectic schedule, it was my way to unwind. The loud music blasting from the speakers amplified the energy, making the experience even more enjoyable. Suddenly, the music stopped. Surprised, I stepped out of the kitchen and spotted a girl with shiny, reddish hair glowing in the sunlight.

I smiled, realizing this must be Isabella, the girl Kathrine had spoken so much about.

“Isabella!” I called out.

She turned to face me, her gaze lingering as if she were thoroughly inspecting me. I chuckled to myself, amused by her scrutiny.

She was different from her mother; that much was clear from her demeanor. She had a fierceness in her eyes, a determination that was both intriguing and intimidating. I decided not to interrupt her, letting her take her time.

And after a while, she asked who I am.

I introduced myself, but Isabella assumed I was her mom’s cook. That was quite interesting, and I felt that my vibes could match with Kathrine’s daughter. I thought I could make her my friend easily, so I teased her a bit before clarifying who I actually was. However, it seemed it was a bad idea. Her smile faded away in a second, as if the sky had come crashing down on her.

Before I could say anything more, Kathrine appeared. I could tell Isabella was shocked and had no idea her mom had a boyfriend. I understood her feelings; I had faced something similar once. Kathrine led her to her room, and I watched them go, noting Isabella’s somber expression.

I returned to the kitchen and sighed, placing my palms on the cool marble table. The encounter had left me feeling uneasy. But my curiosity got the better of me, so I made my way to the second floor and knocked on the door. Hearing Kathrin’s permission, I cracked it open.

As I opened the door, my gaze locked with Isabella’s. Her eyes were filled with anger, a stark contrast to her mother’s more composed demeanor.

Kathrine hugged me, but I felt a bit awkward, especially with Isabella standing right there. Her expression was a mix of shock and frustration, and I could tell she wasn’t comfortable with the situation. When Kathrine tried to console her, Isabella didn’t take it well. She walked out of the room, leaving us alone.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Kathrine sighed heavily, her voice tinged with sadness.

“I don’t know what her problem is. I thought she would accept us.”

I gently placed my palms on her shoulders, offering her a reassuring smile.

“Give her some time, Kathrine. This is a lot for her to process.”

Kathrine nodded, though the worry didn’t leave her eyes.

I gave her a comforting squeeze.

“It’ll get better. Now, get ready; you have to go to the office.”

She returned my smile, albeit a bit forced, and nodded. As I turned to leave the room, a thought struck me, and I paused at the door.

“Kathrine,” I began, turning back to face her, “can I try to talk to her?”

Kathrine raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.

“You can try, but I know Isabella. She’s stubborn. I have a feeling she’ll just insult you.”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

“Let me try,” I insisted.

Kathrine nodded, and I left the room, thinking about how to approach Isabella. I knew winning her over would be challenging, especially after the way things had gone earlier. Not knowing much about her tastes, I decided to take a simple approach—I made a piece of chocolate cake, hoping it might serve as a peace offering.

With the cake in hand, I walked to her room. When I got there, I found the door locked. I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should disturb her, but then I knocked lightly.

From inside, I heard her voice, laced with frustration. “Mom, please don’t disturb me. I’m not in the mood to talk about your and his relationship.”

I sighed, realizing this was going to be harder than I thought. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up. “I’m not your mom,” I replied, waiting for any kind of response. Silence hung in the air for a moment, and just when I thought she might ignore me, the door opened.

Isabella stood there, her expression guarded as she gave me a stern look.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice flat.

I held up the plate with the cake, offering her a small smile.

“May I come in?”

Isabella didn’t say anything, just stepped back to let me in. I took her silence as a reluctant acceptance and walked into her room. The first thing that struck me was the mess—clothes, books, and random items were scattered all over the floor, as if she had tossed them in a fit of frustration. I couldn’t help but sigh heavily, though I managed to smile.

“You are really so mean,” I said, half-jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood.

Isabella arched an eyebrow, turning to face me with her arms crossed defensively. “What did you say?”

I put the plate with the cake on a small table, looking back at the mess.

“Mean,” I repeated, nodding toward the chaos in the room.

“I mean, look at what you’ve done. And for what? Who are you wasting all this energy on?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze shifting away from me, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. It was clear that something was bothering her deeply, something she wasn’t ready to talk about yet. I could see the tension in her posture, the way her jaw clenched slightly. It wasn’t just anger—it was hurt, confusion, and maybe even a bit of fear.

My voice softened as I took a step closer, careful not to push too hard.

“Is this because you’re angry with your mom?”

Isabella’s eyes flicked back to me, and for a moment, I thought she might finally open up. But instead, she just shrugged and gave a slight smile.

“It’s not about her, Mr.”

“Maybe it’s you.”

Isabella’s POV

My mom’s so-called boyfriend was in the middle of one of his tedious lectures again. I smiled politely, though I wasn’t really listening. When he asked if I was angry with my mom, I decided it was time to be blunt.

“It’s not about her, Mr.,” I shot back.

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to figure me out.

"Maybe it’s you.”

He finally said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, "I know you can’t take me as your family. You need time."

I smiled again, this time with a bit of an edge.

“Why are you dating my mom?”

“She’s 14 years older than you,” I added, not hiding the judgment in my voice.

Ezekiel raised his brows and sighed, “Actually, I find her attractive. She’s so different from others.”

“And she understands me a lot.”

“Oh really?” I couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto my face.

“So, you know others too?” I raised an eyebrow.

Ezekiel smiled, his gaze unwavering. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Of course not,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Breakups are so normal these days. But the real question is, how long are you going to be with my mom?”

He sighed, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What if I marry her?”

I gave him a once-over, taking in his casual stance, his smug expression. “Won’t you change your mind?”

“I think not,” he replied, a hint of arrogance in his voice. “But if I were to meet a beautiful girl like you, then it might be a little hard.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised but not entirely amused by his audacity. Ezekiel continued, his tone teasing, “After all, you are Kathrin’s daughter. How can I ignore a beautiful girl who’s just like her mom?”

“Oh, so I remind you of my mom?” I asked, matching his teasing tone.

“Um… Of course, you’re like a kid version of your mom. I bet she was just as beautiful as you when she was at your age,” Ezekiel said, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

I narrowed my brows, feeling a surge of irritation.

“Listen, I’m not a kid. In fact, I’ll be 20 at the end of this month on the 30th.”

“Oh, really? I thought you were 15 years old,” he said, flashing a smile that only made my annoyance grow.

I rolled my eyes, barely holding back my frustration.

“But anyway,” he continued, “at least I’ve finally seen you smile. I hope we can be good friends in the future. I don’t want our relationship to be just based on Kathrine.”

I rolled my eyes again, this time more dramatically, shifting my gaze away from him. His attempts at charm were getting on my nerves, and I wasn’t about to let him think he was winning me over.

Ezekiel walked to the door, his hand resting on the knob.

“And by the way, I made this cake for our new guest. I hope she’ll try it and let me know what she thinks.”

I looked at the cake; its frosting was perfectly smooth, almost too perfect. Ezekiel’s voice broke the silence, “Also, if she joins us for breakfast, I’ll be happy.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of his expectations. “And what if she doesn’t join? Will he be sad?”

Ezekiel’s smile was instant, and I couldn’t deny that it was attractive. There was something in his expression that held my gaze a little longer than I intended.

“Um, yes, it would break his heart,” he said, his tone light but sincere.

I pressed my lips together, a slight smile playing at the corners. His charm was annoyingly effective, and I could feel my defenses slipping, even if just a little. “By the way, thanks for letting me know about your birthday,” he added, his eyes still locked on mine.

We exchanged a look, one that felt more meaningful than I was ready to admit. Slowly, he stepped back and closed the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and glanced back at the cake. A small smile tugged at my lips, but it quickly faded as reality set in. This was my mom’s boyfriend—the man she was planning to marry. The thought hit me like a wave, suddenly overwhelming the brief moment of levity I’d felt.

I arched my brows, without a second thought, I marched to the bathroom, tossed it into the toilet, and flushed it away. The satisfaction was immediate. With that done, I headed downstairs to the dining room.

Ezekiel was there, meticulously arranging the table. He seemed so out of place, like he belonged in a boardroom, not in my mom’s cozy dining room.

I leaned against a chair, resting my elbow on the back. “Don’t you have work?”

He looked up, still smiling. “What do you mean?”

“My mom says you’re a billionaire, a shareholder in malls and universities. So why are you here, doing this sort of thing?”

Ezekiel didn’t miss a beat. “I took a day off today,” he said, pulling out a chair for me with that same infuriatingly charming smile.

“A day off?” I echoed, arching a brow in disbelief. "Wow, it must be nice to be the owner. You can take a leave whenever you want.”

I sat down, watching him closely. Despite my irritation, I couldn’t help but notice that he looked good when he smiled—too good.

Ezekiel took a seat across from me, his demeanor relaxed. “I’m not a workaholic,” he said casually.

“I just want to live my life, travel the world, and explore everything.”

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. He was so different from what I expected—a rich guy who wasn’t obsessed with his wealth or status. It was almost... refreshing.

Ezekiel's words had a strange effect on me, almost hypnotic. His desire to explore the world mirrored my own secret wishes, and for a moment, I found myself drawn into the idea. But just as our conversation was hitting its peak, my mom’s voice interrupted.

“What are you guys talking about?”

I looked up, raising my brows as I spotted her. She was dressed for the office, ready to leave as if today were just another day. It stung—after almost three months of being apart, she couldn’t even take one day off to spend with me.

To mock her, I turned to Ezekiel, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“But Mr. Ezekiel, I don’t think you’ll be with my mom for long. She doesn’t like to explore everything; her only priority is her work.”

Mom froze, the butter knife hovering over the bread.

Her eyes flicked to me, but I ignored her, keeping my gaze on Ezekiel.

“It’s only you who’ll have to compromise, always.”

“Isabella!” Mom’s voice was sharp but controlled. She didn’t want to make a scene in front of him.

“Do you know how much pressure I’m under?” she shot back; her tone defensive. “And for whom I’m doing all this?”

“For you, Isabella.”

I pressed the fork into the table, feeling the familiar weight of her words. I was tired of hearing the same justifications, the same excuses. Standing up abruptly, I glared at her. “Good luck with that.”

Without another word, I stormed out of the dining room, ignoring the breakfast I hadn’t touched, and headed back to the second floor.

**

Kathrine let out a deep breath, her frustration palpable as she looked at Ezekiel.

“Did you see her tone and behavior?” she said, her voice filled with bitterness.

“Just like her dad.”

She shook her head, taking a bite of her bread.

“I’m just fed up with both of them.”

Ezekiel parted his lips as if to say something, but then he hesitated, thinking better of it. Instead, he glanced up toward the second floor, his expression faint.