REVENGE, DIAPER and SNACKS - Chapter 39: Chapter 39

Not just any tux shop. It was sleek, modern, and almost too clean for a place that dealt with secrets deadlier than a bullet. A velvet front for the information ring I helped set up during my college days—when I wasn’t juggling illegal arms, assassinations, and political coups. Those were simpler times, really.
Behind the velvet curtains and the glass shelves of imported Italian bowties was a backroom that traded intel like stocks. My friend, Lucas, ran it now—ever the quiet fox, too smart for his own good and too discreet for Alec to ignore.
That’s why Alec was there.
I saw him before he saw me.
He stood near the counter, trying on an ash-grey jacket that hugged his broad shoulders too perfectly. His dark hair was slicked back, jaw tight, and that permanent scowl etched between his brows. He was talking to the salesman, but I knew better. His sharp eyes scanned the mirrors, the surroundings—always calculating.
I could’ve walked away. I should’ve walked away.
Instead, I pulled the hood of my oversized jumper lower, grabbed a boring blue necktie from the nearest stand, and strutted in like I belonged. My trainers squeaked against the marble floors. My girls followed behind like drunken ducklings, one tripping over her laces, another still licking a lolly, and the baby pulling at my hoodie string like it was her personal swing.
Alec turned.
At first, there was nothing. No flicker of recognition. Just another man bored of women, glancing over with disinterest.
Then came the second look.
And the third.
I saw the flicker. Confusion. Familiarity. That ghost of memory clawing at the edge of his mind.
He tilted his head, those steel-blue eyes narrowing as he spoke my name with the kind of disbelief that made me want to laugh. “Catherine?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” I said, waving the necktie lazily like I was genuinely considering it for Ray—the man I could legally murder if the courts allowed.
Alec’s lip twitched. Not a smile. But something.
“You look… different.”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing down at my outfit: hoodie, leggings, baby carrier, and a chocolate stain on my shoulder. “Motherhood looks good on me.”
He scoffed, voice low and dry. “You? You’re just a bug. A bug that made me think… you were something else.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. There it was. The insult. The bait. But his eyes told another story.
They lingered.
Too long.
They traced the curve of my cheekbone, even without makeup. They scanned my lips, the slope of my neck, the easy way I handled chaos while juggling two shopping bags and a teething baby.
He was intrigued.
And irritated by it.
I knew men like Alec. I used to train them. Command them. Kill them. He was the kind that hated being curious about someone he couldn’t control.
Good.
“Coffee?” I said casually, like I wasn’t about to blow his entire life apart.
He hesitated.
The salesman cleared his throat awkwardly. My baby let out a tiny fart. One of my girls dropped her half-eaten donut and started crying like the world had ended.
I stood there smiling.
“Seriously?” Alec said, almost laughing. “You want coffee?”
“You’re the one loitering in a shop I dream to built, wearing a jacket too tight for your ego. You owe me at least a latte.”
He blinked.
Then—of course—he said yes.
Because I knew how to bait a man like Alec. Not with cleavage or lipstick, but with something far more dangerous.
My mind.
And so we walked.
Me, in my grocery-stained hoodie.
Him, in his designer suit.
And behind us, my three girls skipping like manic fairies, giggling as they pulled on the back of Alec’s jacket.
I smiled like a woman who wasn’t about to destroy him.
But deep down?
Leon Darrow—the real me—was sharpening his blade.
The moment I stepped into the café with the kids in tow, Alec already seated by the window, his profile sharp against the morning sunlight. He looked like a painting—expensive, calculated, too clean for the real world. The kind of man who should be sipping scotch in a penthouse, not waiting for a woman like me—hoodie, sneakers, a baby on my hip, and two toddlers dragging jelly-covered fingers across the glass door.
He looked up. And I saw it. That flicker in his eyes. Not recognition—he already knew who I was. No. It was fascination. Curiosity.
He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t place me.
How a woman like this, in a mess of children and cheap clothes, had walked into his casino like she owned the building. How she had wiped the floor with the high rollers. How she had laughed with two loud friends and winked at the dealer while sweeping millions off his felt-covered table.
I crossed the table with the chaos trailing behind me like ribbons in a war parade. Maya was humming loudly. Aliya kept pointing at a croissant display like it owed her money. The baby had fallen asleep but was drooling across my shoulder like a tiny drunk pirate.
He didn’t say anything at first.