Obsession Series 1: Cohen Rage Dutchman

Chapter 14

"Lautman?" Klea repeated, her voice low but sharp, slicing through the warmth of the dining room like a cold gust of wind. Her hand had frozen mid-air, silver fork gripped tightly between her fingers, the delicate porcelain plate untouched. Her gaze pierced through the room, fixed on Heather with an intensity that made the younger woman's breath catch in her throat.

Heather blinked rapidly, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Ah, yes... why?" she asked, voice hesitant as her eyes darted to Cohen. She searched for reassurance in his expression, but his calm facade was starting to crack.

Cohen's fingers clenched slightly around his utensils. "What's the matter, Mom?" he asked, forcing a casual tone, though the stiffness in his jaw betrayed him.

Klea's lips curved into a tight, artificial smile. "It's nothing. It's just... your surname. Lautman. It sounds very familiar." Her voice trailed off, but the cold suspicion never left her eyes. "Maybe I'm just mistaken."

But she wasn't. Not even close.

An eerie silence descended over the dining room. The sound of forks and knives against plates disappeared. Everyone's attention shifted to Klea—tense, wary, expectant. Even the subtle hum of the chandelier above seemed to quiet.

Then her tone dropped into something even icier.

"Where do you live now?" she asked, her voice clipped, all pretenses gone.

Heather blinked, caught off guard by the sudden interrogation. "I... I live in England," she answered quietly, her posture stiffening under Klea's burning scrutiny.

Klea leaned forward slightly. "And what does your father do?" she demanded.

Across the table, Cole raised his head, frowning. "Klea..." he warned, his voice a whisper beneath the rising tension. But Klea's eyes never left Heather.

Heather hesitated, her throat dry. She glanced at Cole, then at Cohen, who gently reached beneath the table and wrapped his fingers around hers in support.

"We... own one of the largest airline companies operating between Mexico and England," she said finally, her voice faltering.

Cohen squeezed her hand tightly. Klea didn't blink.

"Did your mother die when you were a child?" Klea asked, her voice as still as a blade about to strike.

Heather looked stunned, the color draining from her face. "Y-Yes," she stammered. "It was... I was told it was an accident..."

Klea's stare sharpened to a point of no return. Her body was trembling now—not with fear, but with years of repressed rage clawing its way to the surface.

"And your father's name is Marcus Lautman, isn't it?"

Heather's heart stopped. Her breath hitched. Her hands grew cold.

She looked up slowly, unable to speak, but she nodded. "Yes..."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Klea stood up so fast her chair screeched against the marble. "I'm sorry, dear," she said, voice trembling with barely-restrained fury, "but you're no longer welcome at this dinner."

Gasps erupted around the room. Zy's fork fell from her hand, clattering against her plate. Aumbee's mouth hung open. Even the ever-calm Reo stiffened in his seat.

Heather's eyes widened in shock. "W-What?" she whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

Cohen stood immediately. "Mom!" he snapped. "I can explain everything!"

"Oh, you knew?" Klea hissed, eyes narrowing. "Don't tell me your father was in on this too?" Her glare sliced across the table to Cole, who stiffened.

"I had to keep it from you..." Cole said slowly. "Cohen is in love with her."