Chapter 70 She hated being a burden
Inside the mansion, the scene resembled an impromptu interrogation. Katherine sat watching the two children, who now stood with their hands behind their backs. The younger one looked as if he were about to cry, while the older one glanced around furtively, trying to gauge the danger.
“Names,” she ordered casually.
“I... I'm Antony. This is my brother, Tyller.”
“What did you steal from me?”
“Two chicken drumsticks and a glass of soda...” Antony's voice was a whisper, and he couldn't take his eyes off Katherine's hand, fearing any sudden movement.
“Do you want me to call your parents?” she asked, her voice cold and disinterested.
The older boy waved his hands in desperation. “No need, miss! We'll settle this privately, like adults.” He remembered his father's advice: doing something wrong isn't the problem, the problem is getting caught; if you get caught, you'll get a beating.
Katherine raised an eyebrow, amused by the audacity of the seven-year-old boy. “Settle it privately?” She chuckled. “All right.”
Antony, thinking he had the situation under control, put his hand in his pocket. “I'll pay you. Is thirty reais enough?”
Katherine shook her head slowly, an enigmatic smile appearing on her face. “I don't want your money.”
Five minutes later, the fate of the “criminals” was sealed. Antony and Tyller were balanced on chairs in front of the kitchen sink. One scrubbed while the other rinsed and dried the dishes. Tyller, only five years old, took the task very seriously.
Katherine, meanwhile, returned to the sofa. She watched the movie, ate the fried chicken, and drank the remaining soda, acting as if the two little domestic slaves were part of the decor.
Fifteen minutes later, the children appeared with their sleeves rolled up. “Miss, we're done washing everything.”
Katherine looked at the pile of dishes. Since they were already clean, it was hard to tell the difference, but it was the effort that mattered. She pushed the rest of the chicken legs toward them. “You can go home now.”
Antony's eyes lit up. “Really? For us?”
Katherine just nodded her chin indifferently. The two ran out, stopping only at the door for a quick thank you before disappearing into the night.
Silence returned, but the movie was no longer fun. Katherine felt a restlessness that prevented her from concentrating on the screen. She turned off the TV, picked up her computer, and logged into her new gaming account.
Her “friend” nicknamed \[Don't come here. You're a nuisance." was online.
They formed a team and dove into an intense match. Katherine noticed that this player was especially aggressive today, as if he were venting real emotions on the keys.
The rapport between the two was frightening. In the midst of the chaos, a teammate began to interfere and even knocked Katherine off her motorcycle in the game. Without needing a single text message, her gruff-nicknamed partner reacted instantly, ensuring protection and ultimate victory in a relentless manner.
It was unprecedented to find someone who understood her movements by pure instinct, without her having to say a word. Very interesting, she thought, closing her laptop.
Away from the digital world, she walked to the corner of the room to examine the two gifts she had not yet opened.
The two packages had arrived: one was a gift for Patriarch Arbex's birthday, and the other was for her master, Professor Andrey Sombra. Katherine remembered Andrey's unusual request—he wanted to see João Pedro on his birthday. After a moment of hesitation, she sent a message to the Arbex heir:
\[Don't forget the professor's birthday next month.\]
She expected an immediate “OK,” but her cell phone remained silent. Katherine shrugged; he was probably busy with family business. She put the device aside and went to rest.
On Monday, the atmosphere at school was tense. Marta, the strict teacher of the class, ended the lesson with an announcement that made many hearts race:
— The results of last week's monthly test will be available tonight. What's done is done. Focus on the next one, and don't forget: tell your parents about Wednesday's meeting. I will not accept absences. The meeting is adjourned.“
The buzz began instantly. Most feared Marta's method, as she loved to expose grades and criticize students in front of all their parents — a public humiliation that no one in the elite wanted to suffer. The literature representative turned to Katherine with a smug smile:
”I think I did well, I should stay in the regular class." What about you, Katherine? On the forum, everyone is betting that you'll be among the bottom 100. I'm more optimistic: I'm betting on the bottom 200. If you do that badly, maybe we can be study partners, what do you think?
Katherine didn't even bother to respond. The cell phone in her drawer vibrated. It was Octavio: \[We're waiting for you outside.\]
Confused, Katherine went outside and saw a photo he had sent her: a mountain of snacks filling the back seat of the car and João Pedro sitting behind the wheel with his usual bored expression.
\[Katherine: You don't have to wait for me.\] she typed. She hated being a burden.
Seconds later, João Pedro called. She answered. “Family dinner starts at seven.” His voice was polite but authoritative, as if he were merely communicating an unchangeable fact. “Understood,” she agreed.
As she walked out the gate, she saw the luxury car parked under the trees. Katherine opened the back door, but came face to face with Octavio squeezed between dozens of food packages. “The front seat is yours, you can go there,” said Octavio, looking tiny in the middle of that mess.
Katherine sat next to João. She saw a watch on the seat and returned it to Octavio, asking if he had been sitting there before. João Pedro let out a short, dry cough. “Fasten your seatbelt,” he commanded, cutting off the conversation.
The car glided smoothly. Exhausted, Katherine fell asleep within minutes. She woke up shortly after to the crunching sound of Octavio devouring potato chips in the back seat. “Sorry, did I wake you up?” he asked, his mouth full.
Before she could answer, something was handed to her. João Pedro was holding a glass of tea with milk. Drops of condensation ran down his long, elegant fingers.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the drink. Her throat was dry.
As she took her first sip, the flavor invaded her senses: Matcha. Her favorite, and of an impeccable quality that only very specific stores served.
João Pedro calmly wiped his hand with a napkin, keeping his eyes on the road. “You're welcome,” he replied, with an indifference that did not match the effort he had made to find exactly what she liked.