His Plump Mate (Book 1: The 'His' Series) novel Chapter 186

Cecilia

“Mr. Locke?”

My voice came out as a shocked whisper.

What on earth was Zane Locke doing at my parents’ doorstep at this hour?

Considering my mother’s earlier comments about my relationship with Sebastian… God, please don’t let this be some bizarre soap opera twist where they had a past.

No, that was impossible. My parents had been devoted to each other for decades.

There couldn’t be some ridiculous former flame situation happening here.

Zane’s eyes brightened when he saw me, joy spreading across his features in a way that made me instantly uncomfortable.

‘Ms. Moore! What a pleasure to see you again,” he said with surprising warmth.

I managed a polite smile while mentally screaming: *You showed up at MY house-how could we NOT see each other?

“Mr. Locke,” I said carefully. “What brings you here today?”

“Oh, I wanted to visit your mother. After our last meeting, remembered quite a bit from the past. Suzanne used to-”

“My mother’s name is Esther,” I corrected him, unable to hide my confusion.

Zane looked embarrassed. “Right, Esther. My apologies-age does terrible things to one’s memory.”

I studied him with growing suspicion.

A man who couldn’t even remember my mother’s name clearly didn’t have her on his mind much.

So why would he track down our home after all these years?

From inside, I heard footsteps approaching.

Mom appeared in the doorway, her face freezing in shock.

…Mr. Locke!” Her voice had that high-pitched quality it only got when she was truly blindsided.

“Esther, I was in the neighborhood and heard you lived here. Thought I’d stop by,” Zane said smoothly, offering a gift bag he’d been holding Mom looked like she might hyperventilate. Dad was out, leaving her to handle whatever this situation was alone.

But handle it she did, accepting the gift with a polite smile that looked Like it had been rehearsed in front of a mirror. “How thoughtful. Please, come in.”

She glanced at me with meaning painted all over her face.

“Cecilia, you’ll be late for work. You should get going.” Me:And leave you alone with him? Not happening.

“I told my boss I’d be late this morning,” I said, casually sliding onto the arm of the couch like I had all the time in the world.

“Don’t be silly,” she said tightly. “You really should go.”

Which only made me want to stay more. If she wanted me gone that badly, something was definitely off.

I pulled out my phone and called Sebastian.

“Sebastian, I’m running late this morning. Unplanned visit at my mom’s place.”

There was a pause.

“Visitor?” His voice sharpened immediately. “Simon Foster again?”

I winced. “No. Not him.”

“Then who?”

That Alpha edge slipped into his voice, coiled and quiet.

“Mr. Locke,” I finally said, keeping my voice casual.

“Tell me.”

Sebastian went silent for two beats. “..Who?”

“Zane Locke,” I repeated, enunciating more clearly.

I could practically hear Sebastian’s brow furrowing through the phone.

“He’s there for you?”

1 didn’t want to explain my suspicions about my mother and Zane potentially having some history. After weighing my options, I settled for: “He’s an old acquaintance of my parents.”

This “acquaintance” could mean anything-friends, former colleagues.

Though given Zane Locke’s status and social circle compared to my parents’ modest teaching careers, any connection between them seemed highly implausible.

Sebastian clearly caught my deliberate vagueness but didn’t push. “l understand. Take your time.”

I sighed with relief as I ended the call, then politely helped Mom usher Mr. Locke into our living room.

As we walked in, Zane smiled at Mom. “Was that your boyfriend calling?”

“No, no,” Mom said quickly, waving her hand dismissively.

“No? Wasn’t that Sebastian on the phone?” Zane asked, his tone deceptively casual.

“Well, yes, but-” Mom stammered.

I felt cold sweat break out across my skin.

How did he know who I was talking to?

I jumped in quickly. “Mr. Locke, please have a seat. Have you been staying in Denver long? When is Cassian returning from Australia? Are your wife and daughter enjoying their time in the city?” My rapid-fire questions successfully diverted his attention.

Zane settled into our couch with the ease of someone used to making himself comfortable anywhere.

He smiled at me with an unsettling fondness.

“Cassian won’t be back until next week. I was supposed to leave last Saturday, but my wife had some matters to attend to here. Actually, I wanted to stay a few extra days myself.”

When he mentioned wanting to stay longer, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

“Cece, would you mind putting on a pot of coffee?” Mom cut in, her voice just a little too bright, clearly trying to redirect Zane’s attention.

“Of course,” I replied, grateful for the escape.

As I moved toward the kitchen, I could feel Zane’s gaze trailing me like a shadow I couldn’t shake. That man had the kind of presence that lingered in a room even when he wasn’t speaking.

I kept my head down and focused on clinking mugs and the hiss of the coffee maker warming up, trying not to imagine what was being said behind me.

Their voices floated in and out-low, careful, just a few syllables here and there.

1 couldn’t make out the words, but I didn’t have to. The tone was enough.

Mom’s voice had that brittle politeness she used when she didn’t trust herself not to say the wrong thing.

Zane’s, by contrast, was smooth and unhurried-like he was doing her a favor just by showing up.

Classic Locke family energy: power disguised as charm.

When I returned with the coffee, Zane looked up and smiled, all teeth and effortless confidence.

“Cecilia-or should I call you ‘Cece’ like your mother does? Would that be alright?” His eyes held an unnerving affection.

“Um, sure, that’s fine,” I replied politely while mentally recoiling.

*What the actual hell is happening?*

“Which year were you born, Cece?” he asked, looking directly at Mom.

Mom crossed her arms defensively. “1999.”

“I see. Which month?”

“April.”

“April…” he repeated thoughtfully.

“Yes, why do you ask?” Mom challenged, her voice tight.

Zane seemed lost in calculation.

I noticed him frowning slightly, as if comparing dates in his head.

The tension in the room was becoming unbearable.

Mom sat rigidly, visibly uncomfortable.

Zane was lost in memories that clearly involved some mental math about birth dates.

Combined with what happened at the supermarket the other day….a deeply disturbing possibility slammed into me.

What if Zane thought I was his secret love child?

But hold up-hadn’t he once said I looked like his late wife?

And didn’t she die while pregnant… because of some messy affair he was involved in?

Wait a second-was my mom the one who looked like his dead wife?

Was this his twisted way of trying to get back what he lost? Through my mother?

What the actual soap-opera hell was going on here?

I didn’t wait to see who threw the next punch-verbal or otherwise.

My social battery had flatlined somewhere between ‘ex-husband with orchids’ and ‘my boss in my living room.”

So I did what any self-respecting adult would do in a crisis: fled to the kitchen.

• In the kitchen, I busied myself with the most urgent task I could think of: arranging store-bought cookies onto a serving tray like I was plating for the Queen.

Translation: I was avoiding the testosterone tornado in the living room at all costs.

Tang slipped in behind me, already digging into the snack drawer like he’d lived here for years.

“Cecilia,” he said through a mouthful of pretzels, just say the word and I’ll drag that ex of yours out by his overpriced collar. Guy’s not even JV next to my Alpha.”

I handed him a coffee mug without looking up. “You are not helping.” He took the mug, then casually eyed the tray of cookies like it was a peace offering from a neutral country.

“What are you doing,” I asked warily.

“Being useful,” he replied, and without warning, he grabbed the tray from my hands.

“Seriously?” I blinked.

He was already halfway to the door.

“I’ll deliver the snacks,” he called over his shoulder. “Keep the crowd calm. ”

“Oh my God, Tang-”

But he was gone, marching straight into the living room with a tray of cookies.

Author

The tension in the Moore living room could’ve curdled cream.

No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone felt it-except Tang, who plopped cross-legged onto the floor like a golden retriever thrilled to be included.

Sebastian gave him a look that said, Please stop existing, but said nothing.

Then Xavier opened his mouth.

He smirked toward Sebastian, voice laced with disdain. “Must be nice-having enough money to buy loyalty. Or people.”

That was the final straw.

VanDyck snapped. He grabbed the nearest object on the table (magazine? coaster? didn’t matter) and hurled it across the room.

“You arrogant little bastard!” he exploded. You scammed my daughter into marriage, treated her like garbage, and now you think you get to insult her?”

Xavier stumbled backward, hands raised. “I’m leaving, okay? I just came to see you and Mom-”

“GET. OUT.”

The door slammed so hard, it rattled the windows.

Cecilia appeared from the kitchen, where she’d been hiding behind a tray of cookies and a butter knife she was half-seriously considering as a weapon.

Her father stood in the center of the room, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

He looked less like a professor and more like someone freshly ejected from a bar fight.

“Dad, breathe,” she said, crossing to him. “He’s not worth stroking out over.”

“He’s always looked down on us,” VanDyck muttered. “Entitled, smug-just like the rest of them.”

Across from him, the two very rich men still occupying his couch-Zane Locke and Sebastian Knight-sat in awkward silence.

Esther Moore, finally emerging from shock, offered their guests a tight, practiced smile. “I apologize for the scene. We clearly haven’t been the most gracious hosts.”

Translation: You should probably leave now.

Sebastian stood, calm as ever. “No apology needed, Mrs. Moore. Wealth does strange things to people. Myself included.”

Zane jumped in, eager to smooth things over. “Yes, well said. But let’s , not generalize-Sebastian here is clearly a respectful young man.”

Sebastian turned to him. “With all due respect, Mr. Locke, I’d prefer to earn your approval through actions, not flattery.”

Zane chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good answer. Come on-we’ll get out of your hair.”

Both men knew when a retreat was the smartest strategy.

They said their goodbyes. Tang, blissfully unaware of everything, trailed after them like a loyal puppy.

Once outside, Sebastian turned to Zane.

“Mr. Locke,” he said mildly, “mind if I ask-are you really old friends with VanDyck Moore and his wife?”