Chapter 16

Mia

Breathe.

Don’t freak out.

It’s going to be alright.

After exchanging pleasantries with the doctor, we all sat in the living room, Ares on my right on the beige sofa and Dr Ofenhaus in front of us, dressed like a scholar with his navy blue wool jacket and brown pants, the table as the only barrier between me and his skills. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but he’s young, very young, perhaps just a bit older than me. Short brown hair, warm smile, calm voice, and eyes that move fast like a machine registering as much information as possible. Made me think of an eagle right away. Sharp, straight to the point. No bullshit. Now that I think about it, Ares wouldn’t have wanted it any different. He’s like that too. Not the kind to circle around the bushes. His shake was firm, not that I’m the kind of girl to judge a person on the way they shake hands, but in this situation, I kinda am. If I get a “you’re in a safe place” kind of approach, I will land my fist in his face so fast he won’t have the time to see it coming. I don’t want pity. I want help.

Sitting next to Ares, my fingers dig into the cushy fabric of the luxurious sofa. I try to steady my breathing with his protective hand sliding behind my back.

“So, Mia,” the doctor starts, his tone direct, leaning forward. I’m kind of surprised he didn’t lose his shit from the way Ares towered over him like a fighter ready to break the poor guy into pieces. Must be one hell of a doctor.

“Ares told me about your struggles with food. I understand how hard it can be to let someone in on something so personal.”

Wow, as I said, not wasting any time.

The word food somehow stings, and I feel the panic rising in my throat. My hands begin to shake a bit, but Ares’ touch steadies me as his fingers gently graze mine. I don’t pull away.

Dr Ofenhaus watches me carefully.

He knows.

I nod mechanically, not knowing what to answer to him or how this kind of session is supposed to happen.

“I’m not here to push you more than you can handle, in the same way that I’m not here to judge you or trigger you. I’ve been working with patients for over five years now, all suffering from orthorexia, and most of them recovered, especially the ones who had a strong support system around them.” He glances at Ares in an approbative nod.

“Let’s start simple.” He pauses, sitting back in the chair. “Do you think you could explain to me what it’s like for you to eat outside your home?”

“Outside, you mean, at a restaurant?” I ask.

“Restaurant, friend’s houses, anywhere where you wouldn’t have total control over what you're going to be served.” His fingers cross like a pyramid.

Ares's phone vibrates in his pocket, but he ignores it.

He NEVER ignores phone calls. Why isn’t he picking up?

“I don’t know how to explain—”

“Just say what’s on your mind, and we’ll go from there.”

I notice Ares looking at me from the corner of my eye and sliding his palm on my hand, squeezing it lightly.

You’re okay.

Breathe.

“Apart from one or two places where they make the food in front of you, like the coffee shop, I like to go take my matcha latte in the morning. Apart from that, um—”

Tears blur my vision, the words stuck in my throat.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You can’t even talk about that. You’re a mess. Look at yourself.

Clearing my throat, I gather enough courage to say the words that make me cringe internally before even pronouncing them.

“It’s like, it’s like being stuck in an aquarium, and…you hit on the glass because you can’t breathe. The water is coming in from…everywhere, but no one sees you drowning. You’re just there, in front of people, knowing you’re about to die and no one hears you. You’re all alone.” A thick tear falls down my cheek, and Ares squeezes my hand once more.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs, just for me to hear.

“Why do you think you’re about to die?” the doctor asks in a neutral tone.

“Because, because the food I ate isn’t’...” I shake my head, searching for the right word.

“Clean?” he suggests.

“Yes…exactly, I can’t check if it’s organic or if it has oil or carbs in it. I can’t make sure that the vegetables are steamed properly. I can’t count the calories if there’s sauce. It’s just overwhelming. And when I have to eat something like that, I feel like I’m poisoning myself with something my body can’t handle because it’s not really food. It’s processed, full of fat, chemicals, and things I don't know of,” I explain. “Every meal is a battle,” I admit, my voice trembling. “I’m constantly judging whether I’m making the right choice.”

“Understood,” he says. “And when you say ‘right choice,’ what criteria are you using?”

I hesitate. “I have to make sure it’s perfect—nutritionally balanced, clean. If it’s not, I feel like I’m failing.”

“I see, this is very normal for any patient suffering from orthorexia to see food as good or bad, clean or not. Could you tell me what happens when you have to eat something you don’t want to eat?”

Ares' phone vibrates again, this time twice in a row. Must be the club, and something important for someone to call him three times. He takes his phone out and mutes it without even looking at who called him.

Why isn’t he taking the call? He must have so many more important things to deal with.

“Sorry, could you repeat the question?” I bring my eyes back to the doctor.

“How do your triggers manifest themselves when you eat something you didn’t want to eat?”

“Oh, um…” I pull my hair behind my ear with my free hand and feel so stupid for having to explain to a stranger I have several panic attacks each time I eat outside of my approved list of food.

“Mia has panic attacks, intense ones,” Ares' firm voice says blankly, and I internally thank him for taking the lead on this.

“Have you ever been with Mia during one?”

“Yes,” he says, his tone low and heavy.

“On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most intense state, in how much distress would you describe Mia’s state during an episode?” the doctor asks him.

“Ten,” Ares says without a second of hesitation. Writing something in his notebook, Dr Ofenhaus nods, his brown eyes landing on me.

“You’re not alone in this, Mia. I’ve been treating patients in the exact same condition as you for years, and from what I can tell, you’ve got all the cards in hand to heal. I think the first step we should work on is removing the pressure around food and the rules your mind created about them.”

I nod, though I’m not entirely sure I understand. “What do you mean?”

“It’s about finding a balance,” he explains. “We’ll work on understanding why these rules are in place and how to gradually make changes without feeling like you’re losing control. Most of the time, those rules come from childhood or from significant others who taught us those rules, especially parents, siblings, or even friends. We’ll have to get to the root of it to impact your day-to-day actions.”

I glance at Ares again, who is watching quietly, giving me the space to process. I take a deep breath. “When—when can we start?”

The doctor smiles. “We’ve already started, and you’re doing great, if I may say so.”

I glance at Ares, pride pouring out of his gorgeous eyes as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“We can start with a session a week and adjust depending on your progress,” Dr Ofenhaus says calmly. “This is a process. It’s about gradual change, not perfection. You’ll set the pace, and we’ll adapt as needed.”

I exhale slowly, feeling a bit more at ease with his approach. “Okay, yes, that makes sense.”

“Until next week, we could set a small challenge for you, and you'd tell me next time how it went.”

“Like what?”

“You could try a bite of something that is a little bit outside your comfort zone, like a piece of candy, for example? Or a juice from the store, not a fresh pressed one?” he suggests.

“Um…, okay.” My voice falters at the idea of it.

“It's up to you, Mia, no pressure. Perhaps you could just look at it and take notes on how you feel and we would work on that for the next session.” He smiles at me gently with no judgment or disdain, and I really appreciate it.

“We'll work on it, doctor. Thank you for coming on such short notice,” says Ares, standing and shaking Dr Ofenhaud's hand.

“Of course, you were rather generous, sir. It’s only fair I'd made myself available for your wife,” the doctor’s voice flinches slightly as if having Ares towering over him was shaking him more than he could admit. I stand and instinctively meander next to Ares, brushing his hand.

“Mia, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to our next session,” says the doctor with a warm smile.

“Thank you, doctor,” I reply. The pulse of my heart is regular compared to the beginning of our session.

“I'll show myself out. Good day.” He nods before turning his back to us and heading to the entryway. Once the doctor is out of the living room and in the hands of Maria, Ares turns to face me, his hands sliding from my hips to my face, his gaze searching mine with an intensity that sends shivers through my spine.

“You did so good, princess. I'm so fucking proud of you.” He kisses my forehead roughly.

I shouldn't care that he's proud of me. But I am, and it makes my belly churn with hot, dripping lava.

“I don't know how to thank you for this,” I tell him, playing with my nail polish.

“You don't have to, never.” He smirks. “In sickness and in health.”

I smile back, fake punching his chest.

“What was that about?” I point at the phone in his pocket.

“Nothing that could be more important than what we were doing.”

Did he ignore important calls just for my sake? Why would he ever do that? The club is his life's work. His number one priority.

Checking his phone quickly, he announces, “Shadow and Ash will be here in an hour. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes, we'll go grab my matcha, and then I have some work calls this morning,” I tell him. “Oh, and I'm going shopping with your sister this afternoon. She needs a new dress for the exhibition she told me about.” Ares frowns.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I don't like when you go out of the house,” he mutters like a caveman.

“Seriously?” I roll my eyes dramatically.

“Can't know with certainty there's not a fucker out there trying to take you away from me,” he says with a low and deep voice echoing from my flesh to my bones.

Does he care about me…that much?

“We…we will have Shadow and Ash, and she also has her bodyguards. It'll be alright. You can't keep me locked up here.” I shake my head at my possessive and unreasonable husband.

“Sometimes I wish I could,” he murmurs with a sly grin, stroking my cheek softly.

Flirtatious Ares is really hard to resist.

“I have to go now, princess. You'll be alright?” He checks my eyes as if he can read into my darkest thoughts.

“Yes, and don't go all soft on me, big guy.” I push his chest playfully with a smile.

“I know, you're not like glass, princess. You're made of gold. So fucking stunning and still, so fucking strong,” he says, taking my breath away.

Like gold.

No one ever described me this way.

Then, he grabs my ribs on both sides, lifts me up from the floor, and kisses me brutally for a total of five seconds before leaving me here, panting, in the middle of our living room.

A few minutes later, Maria strides in,

“Would you like a refreshment, Mrs Malone ?”

“Um, yeah, I mean, yes. Water, please, cold with lots of ice cubes,” I say, shaking my head to land back to reality.

She nods with a little smile then turns back to the kitchen.

Ice cold water.

That's exactly what I need right now.

Ares

“Prez.”

“Ares.”

“Mornin’ boss.”

My men greet me once I step into the warehouse, my watch indicating ten o'clock, which is three hours past my usual schedule. I called Vox on the way, who literally lost his shit on me for not calling him back sooner.

I was busy.

Busy?

The team we got on Nero found that he would be meeting with a supplier about twenty minutes away from the club. We’ll trap him there. Ambush the guy with our best men, then bring him back to our basement and break him slowly here, then we’ll take over his cities and eliminate him and all his fucking threats.

Vox and I agreed to keep his girl, Rose, and Mia, in my house to keep them safe and guarded. It won’t be easy, but we’ll have to plan this fast and make sure it does not end in a bloodbath like my father did the day he tried to take over another Chapter and ended up with a bullet in the lung, costing him his life.

“Boss, can I talk to ya?” Carter’s voice echoes behind me as I reach the door of my office.

“Sure.” Opening the metallic door, I let him pass. His gigantic stature barely fit in the doorway, his blond hair disheveled, his cut still on him. Carter is my enforcer, the best one in the country. Found him when he was barely a man, helped him find an outlet for his anger and he’s now as much feared as me across the country.

I don’t bother offering him to sit. Carter’s never been into social interaction and pleasantries. Goes with his occupation. He got better at reading us with time, but I always notice how he keeps on searching the movement of our faces to make sure he gets our feelings right. Some folks would call him a sociopath. I just call him Carter. He’s a great guy and always has the club at heart. I’d trust him with my life. And I did, the night he took over Shadow to protect Mia.

“I liked doing protection at fight night.” Straight to the point. The good thing with Carter and his absence of social cues is that he never loses time with bullshit small talk.

“You did?” I narrow my eyes on him.

“It felt as good as when I’m in the basement.” So he really liked it then. Alright, I think I see where this is going. Carter never asks for anything; we bring him guys, and he deals with them. That’s how we always did this.

“I would like to try to do this more.” His voice is blank, with no emotion, no possible way to read him.

“I’ve been wanting to get Shadow back on the field since that Nero shit started. Think you could put up with Ash?” Our youngest member, fucking great fighter, especially with knives, hence why I’ve chosen him to keep Mia, and also because he’s a cheerful guy and I knew my little tornado would have a blast with him. But by adding Carter to the mix… I would need to get another enforcer, which isn’t ideal…

“We can give it a shot this weekend, Saturday night. Mia’s got an exhibition at my sister’s gallery. I won’t be there until late. I’ll need you and Ash to keep her safe. Think you’re up for this?”

“Yes, boss,” he states with no hesitation.

“Mia’s the most precious thing I have in this fucking world, so-” The words slip from me before I can keep them in.

“I’ll protect her with my life,” he assures me.

Good. That’s what I wanted to hear.

Damn it, Ash and Carter. I did not see this duet coming.

“If this works for her, we’ll make it permanent. In the meantime, you’ll have to find me a replacement for you if that’s really what you want.”

Carter nods. “Understood.” His voice flinches lightly.

The fuck?

“What’s that about?” I ask.

He tilts his head, his eyes scanning my face.

“The sudden change, where does it come from?” I repeat.

Carter opens his mouth and then closes it as if he knew what he was about to say wasn’t morally acceptable. I mean, I know from the amount of shit he told us in the past that Carter has a special way of seeing things. Hence why, Vox and I had been gobsmacked many times at his tales and attempts to court girls. We talked him out of sending feet and hands to a bunch of them. I swear, never a dull moment with Carter.

He’s better now, I mean, I think he is since we sent him to therapy for three fucking years. Thankfully, we had found a shrink to blackmail and not go straight to the cops after what Carter told him, but yeah, it really did some good to him to talk it out. The poor shrink was pissing himself each time he had to start a session with Carter in the basement, but still, he managed to get him out of his head and into the real world, talking again to us and getting out of the club more, having a life, a real one.

“Is this about a woman?” I rub my chin.

He nods, looking down.

“Should I be concerned?” Because I’m not really in the mood to look for pieces of dead bodies in the woods like one of his treasure hunts he once did, but well, whatever he says, I’ll help him.

“She…she got a kid, and I know I suck at human stuff and shit but don’t think I stand a chance if I keep doing what I’m currently doing. Don’t know if I make sense, but yeah…”

Carter likes to stalk; he’s been doing this for years, but it never got serious. Most of our brothers have girlfriends or old ladies but we never saw him bring a girl to the club, never. I’ve made mistakes with Vox and Rose in the past, not acknowledging their relationship sooner and creating a fucking mess because of it, so I want to do better now. Hence why I’m in my office talking about my enforcer’s love life at ten in the morning.

“Yeah, I understand. It’s a good move. Talked to her yet?”

“Not yet.”

Aw, Carter, always observing, taking mental notes of habits, tastes. Makes him ruthless in our world but out of his depth once he’s in the real world, the one where MC clubs and gangs remain in the shadows, where people don’t even realize the darkness living at night in the city they think is so safe.

“How long?” He knows I know him well enough to ask about how long he’s been stalking her. No judgment here, ‘cause I know in my bones, Carter would never lay a finger on a kid nor a woman. Kind of the whole reason he became who he is.

“Two months.”

“Does she know you’ve been watching her?”

“No, I’ve been careful since she has a kid. I don’t want to scare her away.”

“Makes sense. Maybe it’s time you reach out to her, huh?” I suggest.

“I want to, but I don’t know how.” His jaw ticks slightly. That’s new. Must be one hell of a woman to make him all bothered like that.

“You’ll find a way, but whatever you choose, just make sure it doesn’t freak her out. Women don’t find the idea of someone threatening their safety appealing. You can’t go on with this forever, Cart.” I’m hoping to shake some sense into him.

“I know, I know…”

“Just help her out with something one day or give her a compliment. I don’t fucking know, you should ask Vox. He’s better at that than me.” I chuckle roughly cause’ we’re both borderline psychopaths talking about approaching women in a non-threatening way, and the irony is just too loud.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll try.”

“Good, I’ll text you the address of the gallery for Saturday.” I think about my beautiful redhead and how proud I am of what she did this morning.

Carter nods, turning to the door. “Thanks, boss,” he says, his voice cold and empty of emotion as he closes the door.

Like I said, never a dull moment with Carter.

Mia

Silky fabric, rainbows of colors and textures between my fingers.

God, I love shopping.

Not because I like material things, but because it’s like painting to me. Choosing the right shades, finding the best fabrics, adjusting on the different bodies, and finding the best match. It’s artsy yet so close to science sometimes. And it’s safe. There’s nothing good or bad here, nothing I can’t control. I sigh with contentment, a light smile dancing on my lips.

“Not this one, nope. This won’t do, too colorful, too look at me I’m rich, too—” Vanessa says as she looks at the dresses like an accountant at spreadsheets.

“What about this one?” I take the hanger out, displaying a midi dress in a deep burgundy, seductive yet professional enough with a chic cut.

“Ohh, yes, girl, that’s exactly what I was looking for. I’ll try it, c’mon.” Following her into the large changing room of this high-hand store, I glance back at the four tattooed men in leather jackets securing the entryways, hands behind their backs like soldiers, as if someone was about to attack us in the middle of a shopping spree.

Ares and his control freak habits are way over the top.

I sit on the comfortable and lavish red sofa, waiting for Vanessa to come out. I’ve chosen tight jeans with a boho white blouse and a little purse with ruffles. It’s so cute.

I’ve taken the opportunity to look at a few pieces for my clients, and I’ve found a few pieces that will work on a businesswoman I’ve worked with for years. Three times a year I design her a whole new wardrobe. Makes it easier for her to focus on her work, and she never has to spend mental energy on what she should wear and what goes with what. I like knowing that I’m helpful, that I make people’s lives easier by styling their clothes for them. To me, it’s second nature.

“Sooo?” Vanessa says, spinning and making poses in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror with a golden frame.

“Mrs Dash, Mrs Malone, would you like a glass of champagne?” says a young brunette with sleek hair and a lovely beige dress.

“Oh yes, thank you,” Vanessa says, taking one glass from the tray. The saleswoman turns her face to me with a light, professional smile. “Could I have a glass of water, please?” I ask.

“Of course, I'll be right back.” She nods.

See, you just have to ask. It’s no big deal.

“No champagne?” asks Vanessa, sipping her glass.

“No, that’s not really my thing,” I admit.

“Wait, you’re not—” Her eyes widen like she’s hallucinating or something.

“What? No, I’m not pregnant!” I gasp, I almost want to tell her that her brother and I only exchanged our first real kiss a few days ago but I kind of want to keep it for me. I like her, but I’m still not sure if I can trust her.

“Okay, okay, sorry, it’s just, you know, with Ares’s past and all.” Her palms lift in the air apologetically.

“Ares’s past?” I frown.

What is she talking about?

“Yes, the whole Iris mess. That’s why I thought maybe if you were pregnant…” She shrugs, twirling in front of the golden-framed mirror.

“Iris mess?” I repeat, leaning to her in my seat.

“Shit, he didn’t tell you?” she gasps, biting her lips as if she understood that she had spoken too freely.

“No, no. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Damn it, me and my silly mouth, it’s not a big deal anymore, but, um, you guys should probably talk about it. You know, if you ever want to get really pregnant and all that,” she says with a light smile, all superficiality and drama disappearing from her tone.

What?

Who’s Iris?

And why does Vanessa keep associating being pregnant with this woman?

“So, what do you think? Should I take it? We still have to find the right heels to go with it, though.” She changes the topic and looks at her reflection, her blonde hair complimenting the deep burgundy color.

What is Ares hiding from me? I thought I could trust him.

“Earth to Mia?” She lowers her knees and angles her face to force me to see her.

“Sorry, sorry, I was thinking about what you said.”

“Hey, I’m sure it’ll be fine. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’m the one who’s sorry. By the way, I kind of wanted us to go shopping together to make up for the last time I saw you.” A sad smile appears on her face.

“Why?”

“Well, bringing Carolina and all…”

“Oh, yeah, well, you thought we had a fake marriage, so wait—was that a test?” I narrow my eyes on her. She bites her lips, her cheeks suddenly carrying a deep shade of pink.

“I’m sorry, I'm used to people trying to get close to him with an agenda, so...I just wanted to make sure you weren't one of them. Anyway, at least now I know.” She pushes her hair back to look at what the outfit would look like with an updo.

“Know what?” I cross my arms.

“Well, it’s kind of obvious.” She looks at me from the mirror reflection. “Seriously, Mia, he's obsessed with you, girl.” Then she winks at me like she just said something inconsequential.

“He just…likes me,” I murmur.

“Trust me, I’ve known him my whole life, and I never saw him look at someone with so much…intensity, I guess? Sorry, it feels kind of gross to talk about my brother like that.” She chuckles. “You got him all wrapped around your little finger, trust me.” she grins.

“Here’s your water, Mrs Malone,” the saleswoman says.

“Thank you.” I take it and empty the whole glass straight. Vanessa is still talking about the dress and the exhibition of tomorrow night but my mind has already tuned her out. So many questions are bouncing in my head.

Who is Iris?

And why does the idea of another woman carrying Ares’s child turn my insides out?