<h4>Chapter 187: Chapter 187 What Kind of Madness Is This?</h4>


    Cecilia’s pov


    "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 earlierments about my rtionship with Sebastian... God, please don’t let this be some weird soap opera drama 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 me situation happening here.


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


    "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 ourst meeting, I 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 think much of her.


    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 hyperventte. Dad was out, leaving her to handle whatever this situation was alone.


    But handle it she did, epting the gift with a polite smile that looked like it had been rehearsed in front of a mirror. "How thoughtful. Please,e in."


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


    "Cecilia, you’ll bete for work. You should get going."


    Me:And leave you alone with him? Not happening.


    "I told my boss I’d bete 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 runningte this morning. Unnned visit at my mom’s ce."


    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. "Tell me."


    "Mr. Locke," I finally said, keeping my voice casual.


    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?"


    I didn’t want to exin 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 circlepared to my parents’ modest teaching careers, any connection between them seemed highly imusible.


    Sebastian clearly caught my deliberate vagueness but didn’t push. "I 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 on the phone with?


    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 sessfully diverted his attention.


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


    He smiled at me with an unsettling fondness.


    "Cassian won’t be back until next week. I was supposed to leavest 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 sybles here and there.


    I 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.


    ssic 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 calction.


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


    The tension in the room was bing unbearable.


    Mom sat rigidly, visibly ufortable.


    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 mmed into me.


    What if Zane thought I was his secret love child?


    But hold up--hadn’t he once said I looked like histe 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?


    The doorbell rang again, slicing through the awkward silence.


    I practically ran to answer it, desperate for any interruption.