NOVPUB
Chapter 70 - 70- doing something else
A rich, enticing aroma wafted out from the kitchen in no time. Albert Wilson lay on the couch, weak and weary, clutching his growling stomach. The tempting smell of noodles filled the air, and as he imagined her bustling in the kitchen, cooking for him, his nose tingled with a sharp ache of emotion.
There was no luxurious house, no extravagant feast, and she hadn't even shown him the slightest warmth. Yet, this simple bowl of noodles stirred an almost overwhelming urge to cry.
All he wanted, really, was this—something plain, warm, and blissfully simple.
He thought to himself, Maybe spending this year with her wouldn't be so bad after all.
Just as he was lost in thought, the kitchen door swung open. He sat up abruptly, his eyes lighting up as they locked on the bowl of noodles she carried. The noodles glistened, with a perfectly poached egg floating on top, instantly making his mouth water.
Cynthia ignored his eager expression, placing the bowl and chopsticks in front of him before disappearing into the bedroom. She had gotten up in such a hurry earlier that she hadn't even had time to put on her bra. Now, while he was distracted with eating, she quickly slipped into the bedroom to dress properly.
She threw on a cardigan over her pajamas, wrapping herself tightly. Only then did she feel confident enough to re-emerge. But to her surprise, the bowl of noodles was already wiped clean.
Albert Wilson, looking slightly rejuvenated, pretended not to notice her changed attire. Pointing to the now-empty bowl, he put on a pitiful face and asked,
"Is there more?"
He had, after all, noticed when he held her earlier that she wasn't wearing anything under her pajama top. He chuckled inwardly at the memory.
But the truth was, he really hadn't had enough to eat. This was the first time she had ever cooked for him, and whether it was because he was starving or because her cooking was unexpectedly good, he found himself craving a second bowl of noodles—something he rarely ate.
Cynthia's lips twitched in annoyance as she stood there, hands tucked into her cardigan pockets. Without hesitation, she shot back,
"Nope!"
"But I'm still hungry," he replied, doubling down on the pitiful act. He really was.
Still, he couldn't believe how stingy she was. He'd seen another package of noodles in the fridge when she opened it earlier. She clearly could make more but just didn't want to.
Cynthia ignored his complaints and stepped forward to collect the empty bowl and chopsticks.
"At least it filled you up a bit," she said flatly. "You can ask them to make you something else when you get home."
Doesn't he have a mansion full of servants? And that overly fussy butler? And... that woman he keeps close to his heart?
If he's hungry, he should go to them. She wasn't some savior responsible for feeding the needy. Heck, she could barely feed herself.
"But Fredy and the others have all gone home for the New Year!"
"Then go eat at a hotel," she said, her tone as unwavering as ever.
"But I'm too weak to even make it to a hotel!" he shot back, relentlessly pressing on.
"..."
Cynthia was speechless. She shot him a fierce glare, his innocent-looking expression only fueling her frustration. With a huff, she stormed to the fridge and yanked out the last packet of noodles.
Fine, fine. She'd just grab a bite at Marc's later. If he starved to death here, people would accuse her of murdering her husband.
Before stepping into the kitchen, she threw him a cutting remark:
"Once you're done eating, you'd better take your things and leave!"
To her dismay, he only gave her a sly smile and obediently stayed put, waiting for his noodles.
When Cynthia returned from the kitchen, carrying the steaming bowl, her hand almost slipped in shock. There he was, still sitting in the same spot, but now dressed in a light gray set of loungewear, his damp hair glistening with droplets of water.
Seriously? He had taken a shower while she was cooking?
Fine, she could let that slide. After all, he had traveled all the way from the U.S., and the long journey must have left him feeling grimy.
But couldn't he have at least changed back into normal clothes after his shower? What was the meaning of wearing loungewear? Did he not understand Chinese? She had clearly told him to finish the noodles and leave right after!
Nearby, his massive suitcase lay open, its contents clearly rummaged through. What annoyed her more was that he hadn't bothered to tidy it up afterward. The suitcase just sat there, wide open, with clothes spilling out in every direction.
Her brows furrowed even deeper. She despised people who left their belongings in complete disarray, like a tangled mess of chaos without the slightest sense of order.
She stepped forward and slammed the bowl of noodles onto the coffee table, her expression filled with displeasure as she questioned him sharply. 𝓷ℴ𝓋𝓅𝓊𝒷.𝒸𝓸𝓶
"Albert Wilson, what are you doing?"
Albert Wilson pulled the bowl toward himself, picked up the chopsticks, and began eating, grinning mischievously as he tried to coax her.
"Cynthia, don't be so stingy. I just want to borrow your bedroom for a little nap. I've been on the plane for two days straight and haven't had a proper rest..."
"Albert Wilson, don't push your luck!"
Cynthia was trembling with anger. This man had no sense of honor. He said he'd leave after finishing the noodles, yet now that the bowl was empty, he wanted to stay for a nap?
And after that nap, who knew what other excuses he'd come up with to torment her? She deeply regretted letting him in. She should've known better—he was never someone easily sent away. It was her own softness, her inability to see through the devil's true nature, that had brought this upon her.
Seeing how furious she was, he chose to say nothing more. Instead, he simply focused on eating, his movements bold and unapologetic. Before long, the second bowl of noodles was completely devoured.
Watching him sit there, fully content, as if he'd just finished a grand feast, only fueled her frustration. She stormed over, grabbed his arm, and tried to haul him to his feet.
"You've finished the noodles. You've got your strength back. Now it's time for you to leave!"
She used every ounce of strength she had to pull him, but he remained firmly seated, not moving an inch. A sly glint flickered across his narrow eyes. Then, with a slight tug of his arm, she lost her balance and tumbled forward—straight into his embrace.
He reached out his other arm to catch her, and there she was, awkwardly sprawled against him. Her line of sight landed on his smiling, handsome face, which was gradually getting closer and closer...
Until his firm nose lightly brushed against hers. His voice dropped low as he murmured,
"The noodles are finished, and I've got my strength back. But now, I feel like doing something else."
Because of how close they were, every word he spoke sent his warm lips brushing against hers now and then. A strange shiver coursed through her body, leaving her feeling unsettled. Instinctively, she clamped her lips shut, blocking his deliberate teasing and unwelcome advances.
She was so infuriated by his audacious behavior that she was almost ready to explode. She wanted to scold him fiercely, to let out her pent-up frustration, but she didn't dare open her mouth. One glance at his predatory gaze told her that if she so much as opened her lips, he would seize the opportunity to kiss her outright.
His warm, large hand slid beneath her shirt, the heat of his palm traveling upward along her cool, silky skin. That was the final straw. She couldn't take it anymore. With all her strength, she pushed him away and leapt off him, retreating several steps.
"Albert Wilson, you're shameless!"
She hastily adjusted her clothes, glaring at him with fury while scolding him.
He rose leisurely from the sofa and walked toward her with deliberate slowness. The silver-gray loungewear he wore only accentuated his lazy, carefree demeanor. He stopped in front of her, a mischievous smile dancing in his eyes, completely unhidden.
"Cynthia, be good. I just need one nap, that's all," he said soothingly.
Before she could react, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss on her cheek. Then, as if he owned the place, he sauntered into her bedroom, pulled off his loungewear, and slipped into the bed that still carried her warmth.
Cynthia stood rooted to the spot, stunned and furious. It took her a long moment to gather her thoughts.
He was already shamelessly lying in her bed. What could she do now? She couldn't physically overpower him, and her wits were no match for his cunning.
"Fine, whatever!" she muttered to herself, trying to convince herself to let it go. After all, she still had the attic to escape to. Consoling herself repeatedly, she managed to dispel some of her frustration. Picking up the bowl and chopsticks, she went into the kitchen to wash them.
When she came back out, her eyes fell on his open suitcase, clothes strewn about messily. Unable to ignore the chaos, she walked over and began tidying it up. She neatly folded his clothes, one item at a time, and placed them back inside.
In the process, she came across some of his personal belongings—particularly his underwear. The colorful pile initially puzzled her until she held up a piece and realized what it was. Her cheeks flushed red as she quickly stuffed it back under his clothes and slammed the suitcase shut.
As she straightened up, her phone began ringing from the bedroom. Remembering that he was asleep, she hurried in to grab it. His tall figure was sprawled across half the bed, fast asleep. Careful not to wake him, she tiptoed over, picked up her phone, and quietly stepped out onto the balcony to take the call.
