His Plump Mate (Book 1: The 'His' Series) novel Chapter 194

“Yes! Bad lady!” Xenia repeated, Louder this time.

I’was fully prepared to keep descending and let the awkwardness slide into oblivion.

But Amara–clearly sniffing out the potential for chaos like a bloodhound at a drama convention–not only slowed down but turned to engage.

“What do you mean, ‘Bad lady’? Our Miss Moore is a wonderful person.

You shouldn’t say such things.”

Oh, for God’s sake.

She was stirring the pot with the subtlety of a soup ladte.

Someone was clearly desperate to collect a headline-worthy soundbite for the office grapevine.

I turned back toward Mrs. Locke and her daughter, pasting on a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Oh, Miss Xeniaa, what a surprise.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay with you at the property management office past time.

Xenia, sweetheart, let’s not call me ‘Bad lady,’ okay?”

“Bad lady! I want the Pretty brother!” Xenia insisted.

Well,” I replied, still smiling, “don’t you already have a brother to play

“No! You’re bad!”

“I’m not bad,” I said calmly, humoring her while keeping my tone light.

It was like negotiating a peace treaty with a tiny, tiara wearing dictator.

Beside me, Amara tilted her head slightly, her expression catching up to the situation.

She’d finally clocked that Xenia wasn’t just being bratty-she had cognitive disabilities.

And then, without warning, Xenia reached out to push me.

Cecilia’s pov

It all happened so fast.

But I’d dealt with her before.

I remembered how she’d suddenly grabbed Sebastian that day, calling him “Pretty brother” and attempting to embrace him from behind.

I’d seen the dangerous glint in her eyes when I’d denied being “bad,” so when her hands shot out, my body reacted instinctively.

1 sidestepped, my muscles tensing as I moved just enough to avoid her grasp.

Xenia’s hands clutched at empty air.

The momentum of her missed lunge sent her stumbling straight toward the polished tile floor.

“Ahhh!” Her scream pierced the bustling mall atmosphere.

Mrs. Locke lunged forward, desperately grabbing for her daughter’s arm while simultaneously latching onto Amara for support.

But Amara was too slight, too unprepared for the sudden weight.

She shrieked as she was yanked forward, her designer heels skidding like stilettes on black ice.

Seeing both women lurch toward the edge–and realizing I’d be dragged down too–I reached out and caught Xenia’s other arm.

The three of us together managed to halt her fall, a collective effort of panicked strength that left us all trembling.

The entire incident lasted mere seconds, though it felt like slow motion.

All four of us were visibly shaken, faces drained of color.

Around us, mall patrons had already started circling-some staring flat-out, others holding up their phones like they were filming the season finale of a reality show.

Perfect. Nothing like a near-accident to become this afternoon’s viral content.

1 silently thanked my previous run-in with Xenia for giving me a heads-up on her unpredictability.

She existed entirely in her own alternate universe–one where logic had no place.

“Xenia, are you alright?” Mrs. Locke was checking her daughter’s body for injuries.

Xenia seemed genuinely terrified by her near-fall.

She stood blank-faced and vacant-eyed, clinging to her mother and trembling, soft sobs muffled against the silk of Mrs. Locke’s painfully expensive blouse.

Beside me, Amara wobbled on unsteady legs, clearly looking for someone to stabilize her.

Actually, it wasn’t going to be me.

When Mrs. Locke turned toward me with Xenia still clutched in her arms, I decided to take control of the narrative.

1 hardened my expression and raised my voice deliberately.

Her expression suggested I was some kind of social disaster, constantly stirring up trouble.

1 pulled myself back to the present moment and replied mildly, “That Miss Xenia’ you just saw has a crush on Alpha Sebastian.

Last time we met, she sexually harassed him twice–calling him ‘Pretty brother’ and trying to hug him from behind.

So yes, I suppose l am quite terrible.” I gave her a sweet smile. “But you, Miss Amara, are clearly a saint with a halo to match.” Amara gritted her teeth.

“Miss Amara, shall we continue shopping?” I asked cheerfully. “With your comptexion, I think you’d look stunning in those new winter collections.”

Her eyes narrowed at my dual-edged comment on her pallid face, recognizing the barbed compliment for what it was.

“..Fine. Let’s shop,” she managed to repty.

We spent another hour browsing through the mall before heading back to the company.

Using the money Amara had reimbursed me for yesterday’s ruined dress (which I’d absolutely cleaned.and kept–it was far too expensive to discard), I selected a beautifut gown for Harper.

Buying something gorgeous for my best friend using what felt like monopoly money was the closest I’d come to joy all day.

The vicarious thrill helped offset the exhaustion of maintaining false pleasantries with Amara, which had felt less like lunch and more like a diplomatic summit.

Back at the orice, I hung the dress carefully on the rack in my office.

The afternoon dragged by, and only copious amounts of coffee kept me from face-planting onto my keyboard.

Last night had been… let’s just say, not optimized for sleep.

And the draining social chess match with Amara over lunch had depleted what little energy I had left.

At two o’clock, I made my way to the Finance Department.

At half past two, I returned from Finance, nearly dozing off in the elevator when my phone rang.

“Cecilia,” Beta Sawyer’s voice came through the line, “could you wake up the Alpha? I’m stuck in a meeting and can’t get away.” I sighed heavily. “..Fine.”

dragged myself to the top floor, went directly to Sebastian’s office, and pushed open the door to his private rest area.

“Wake–”

The word died in my throat as I froze, blindsided by the scene in front of me.