Chapter 96

Stella needs my help.

Good. I'm still useful to her.

Marguerite was surprised he had seen through her so easily. Her long lashes fluttered. "It's just a small thing. We can talk about it over dinner."

The three dishes and a soup were steaming on the table, a feast for the eyes and nose. Marguerite felt so guilty she couldn't even look George in the eye.

He picked up a piece of hot and sour shredded potato and put it in his mouth, one eyebrow arching slightly. "What do you need my help with, Marguerite?"

This wasn't her cooking. But the fact that she had gone to the trouble of deceiving him was, in its own way, a wonderful gift.

Marguerite took several deep breaths to quell her guilt and forced a smile. "It's about Aaron. He was living in the slum area, but he suddenly moved. I think he's probably still somewhere in the slums, but I can't find him. I was hoping you might have a way to help."

Her guilt was real, but so was the delicious aroma of the food. She finally picked up her utensils and took a bite of steamed fish. It was tender and fragrant, and she gave the chef a mental thumbs-up.

"No problem. What's Aaron's full name?"

Marguerite hadn't expected him to be so easily won over, and a bit of the weight lifted from her shoulders. "His name is Aaron. This fish is delicious, you should have some more." She placed a piece of fish in his bowl.

George stared at it for a few seconds.

Stella served me food. I'm so happy.

The staff, who were still on duty, all frowned. The master was a notorious

germaphobe; he would never eat food someone else had served him.

But in the next second, they watched in disbelief as George picked up the piece of fish and ate it, chewing slowly and deliberately.

The staff were shocked. So, the germaphobia was all a lie.

After dinner, George made a phone call. Then he turned to Marguerite and said, "They're canvassing the entire slum area now. They'll let me know as soon as they have news."

The problem had been solved so easily, and she hadn't even had to actually cook for him. Curled up on the sofa, Marguerite blinked her wide eyes. Thank you so much, George."

George fought the urge to reach out and stroke her soft hair. Instead, be

adjusted his glasses and offered a

at

gentle smile. "And thank you for the

thought you put in for me today, Maggie."

Later that night, lying in bed after her shower, Marguerite received a message from Northpine Wraith.

[Have you talked to Mr. Spencer?]

[Did he agree to help?]

Marguerite: [He's already helping. He's such a good person!]

Northpine Wraith: [So, he's not going to end up in the hospital tonight?]

Marguerite: [...He ate the chef's cooking. We just pretended it was mine.] Northpine Wraith: [Oh, thank God!]

Marguerite: [... You'd better sleep with one eye open tonight, you little brat!]

She turned off her phone and stared at the ceiling, a pang of guilt hitting her. George

had even thanked her for the meal she hadn't cooked.

After turning off the lights,

Marguerite tossed and turned,

unable to fall asleep. The chef, in an attempt to make the food seem like it was cooked by a novice hade everything a bit too salty. Now she was thirsty. She slipped out of bed in the dark.

She opened her bedroom door and froze. A tall, dark figure was standing right outside her room.