Chapter 95 He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.
Katherine didn't bother to look back, maintaining her icy posture as her voice echoed with sharp determination:
“I'm having dinner at Aunt Anastasia's. Don't wait up for me.”
She continued walking, each step exuding an aura of independence that irritated and fascinated those who watched her. At the next table, Octavio, already dressed in his school uniform, was mesmerized by his cell phone screen. His eyes sparkled at the image of a limited edition race car, a forbidden desire that made him forget even his own breakfast.
Katherine let out a low, ironic chuckle.
“Still haven't given up that addiction?”
Octavio jumped, hastily dropping his phone.
“Shhh!” he hissed, glancing nervously at where his parents were sitting. “Don't talk so loud, Katherine! My parents are right there.”
“If you don't even have the courage to admit your desires, why do you insist on playing with fire?” she teased, sitting down with sloppy elegance.
Octavio put down his fork, staring at her with growing suspicion. His eyes narrowed, trying to decipher the enigma that was the girl in front of him.
“Speaking of which... do you have any secrets I don't know about?” he fired, leaning forward. “The guys who brought me here yesterday weren't just anyone. They were big shots, Katherine. And they called you ‘Boss,’ looking at you with a respect that bordered on fear.” A mischievous smile appeared on his lips. “Were you the ‘first lady’ of that gang? An ex-girlfriend of some king of the streets? Confess!”
Katherine gave an enigmatic smile, the kind of smile that hid abysses of secrets.
“You're really smart, Octavio,” she replied, in an ambiguous tone that only fueled her cousin's imagination.
“Hey, man! When did you get here?” Octavio exclaimed suddenly, his eyes widening.
Katherine's imperturbable countenance wavered for a millisecond. She felt it before she saw it. João Pedro approached the table carrying two meticulously prepared plates. His expression was somber, a cloud of silent jealousy hanging over him.
As he placed the breakfast in front of Katherine, the fresh aroma of milky mint—that dangerously addictive smell—invaded her nostrils, making her heart skip a beat involuntarily.
“Brother, why did you suddenly decide to become a chef?” Octavio asked, already stealing a piece of meat from the plate and chewing it with approval.
João Pedro pulled up the chair next to Katherine, invading her personal space.
“What were you talking about so enthusiastically?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“Oh, we were talking about Katherine's ex-boyfriend!” Octavio blurted out, winking at her with disastrous complicity.
“You know, one of those guys who gave me a ride yesterday. Right, ‘Boss’ Katherine?”
“Shut up, Octavio,” Katherine hissed, her patience wearing thin.
She didn't need to look to the side to know that João Pedro's gaze was fixed on her, burning her skin like embers. The irritation from the night before, mixed with an electric tension she couldn't name, came back to haunt her.
Octavio, finally realizing that the atmosphere was about to explode, choked on his food and got up hastily.
“I'm satisfied! Feel free to stay... I'll go first!” He grabbed his cell phone and fled out the door, leaving behind a heavy silence.
Now it was just the two of them. The sound of cutlery against porcelain seemed deafening. Suddenly, Katherine noticed a perfectly peeled egg on her plate. Soon after, orange segments, without a single seed. And finally, João began to cut her steak into delicate cubes, as if he were handling something precious and fragile.
Katherine frowned, resistance rising in her throat.
“You don't need to worry about me like that,” she said, her voice firm, though a little shaky.
João Pedro stopped what he was doing. He watched her profile, capturing every trace of discomfort. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, but with Katherine, every step seemed to be in a minefield.
He put down his cutlery, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and stood up, his imposing silhouette blocking the morning light.
“Eat at your leisure,” he said, with a coldness that hid deep hurt. “I'm going to work.”
Katherine looked at his plate. It was untouched. A strange feeling, a pang of guilt that she hated to feel, tightened her chest as she watched him walk away.
Minutes later, Katherine was crossing the road on her black and red mountain bike. The morning sun caressed her skin as she pedaled hard, trying to leave behind the confusion that João Pedro caused in her senses.
When she arrived at school, the bell had already rung. She walked to her desk, seeking the familiar comfort of her comic book to ignore the rest of the world. But when she looked down, her heart sank. It was empty.
A hot cappuccino was placed on the table.
“Forget the comic books, Katherine,” said Octavio, with a sigh of defeat. “They were confiscated by the teacher. They're locked in her office.”
Katherine felt her blood boil. That was the last straw. In a world where everyone tried to control her—from Daniel Lutz to João Pedro—her little escape valve was the only thing she had left.
“She shouldn't have done that,” whispered Katherine, her eyes shining with a promise of retaliation that would make the whole school tremble.
The silence that followed the thud of the three comic books on Katherine's desk was charged with feminine complicity. Jessica Mendes, with that smile of someone who knows all the shortcuts of the school underworld, winked.
“I got three of them back for you. No need to cry, Kath,” whispered Jessica, feeling the weight of her friend's silent gratitude.
Katherine leafed through the colorful pages, but the sparkle in her eyes did not return. She had already devoured every speech bubble in those issues. With an apathetic movement, she pushed the comic books into the drawer and retrieved her Rubik's cube. Her fingers moved with mechanical precision, the colors spinning into a blur as she tried to ignore the void left by the magazine that really mattered.
The classroom was a microcosm of hidden intentions:
Octavio, the incurable rebel, hid behind invisible headphones, immersed in a game broadcast.
Bruno Spence, sitting next to Katherine, exuded an almost palpable determination. His ego, wounded by the girl's silent superiority, had turned him into a monk of studies. He firmly believed that male intellect was an impregnable fortress, and that all it took was “will” to knock Katherine off her pedestal.
Gabriel Park, in an almost comical effort to get attention, had shaved his head. He sought the “masculine brutality” he imagined to be Katherine's weak point, basking in the sun from the window as if melanin could buy her interest.
Meanwhile, Jessica immersed herself in calculations, her draft filled with the urgency of someone seeking a scientific answer to the dilemmas of the soul.
But the peace was shattered.
“Ah!” The sharp cry cut through the air, coming from the front row.