“I’m going to work now. She hasn’t eaten since last night, so cook something delicious,” he instructed, his voice fading as the front door clicked shut.
I assumed it was the chef Tobias occasionally hired to cook at the penthouse, so I paid no attention.
Moments later, the sounds of chopping and sizzling drifted from the kitchen. My stomach growled despite my misery, the scent of food wafting faintly through the walls.
“Ugh, never mind. Being hungry won’t take away my heartache,” I muttered bitterly.
Reluctantly, I left my room, drawn by hunger. But when I stepped into the kitchen, I froze.
It was not the chef standing at the stove. It was Lewis.
He turned to me with a cheerful expression, holding a ladle in one hand. “Oh, Grace, you’re finally out. Come eat! I cooked a lot for you. There’s even your favorite meatball soup.”
He acted as if nothing had happened.
Tears welled in my eyes again, pouring freely as the memories of the previous night flooded back.
I stood there, rooted near the kitchen doorway, neither approaching him nor retreating.