CHAPTER ELEVEN: Internal Fight With Decision

I tried to force a smile, a shaky, unconvincing thing. The word, so unconvincing, tasted like ash in my mouth. I felt eased, though, but I couldn't just fathom how I was feeling about it.

"Oh, don't stress it, my dear," Robert said, his voice as smooth and polite as I remembered. "There are maids around. They would do all that stress."

He waved a hand, and a maid appeared as if from nowhere, she was as beautiful as a blooming flower and silently accepting his instructions to prepare a meal.

I stole a glance at my husband, and my blood ran cold. The look on his face was a mixture of disappointment and fury. My cheeks burned with shame. Would they see me as some kind of starving woman, a desperate housewife looking for a free meal? The air in the room thickened with my unease, and the weight of his gaze felt heavier than any meal I could have made.

The air grew heavy with the promise of food, a fragrant blend of rich, boiled chicken, and the savoury sizzle of fried eggs. My stomach, a rumbling traitor, betrayed my inner turmoil. I was a puppet, my strings held by a strange mix of hunger and fear that my husband might kill me later.

"So, only those ones would be thrown into the sea," Collins's voice, a low whisper meant for another's ears, cut through my thoughts. The words were a jagged hook, pulling me from my dazed state. I turned to face him, a slow, deliberate movement, but the conversation had already evaporated.

Robert, ever the gracious host, simply smiled and tried to change the subject.

The maid's timely arrival was a welcome interruption, her presence a soft rustle of starched linen. She carried a procession of covered trays, their polished silver lids gleaming under the chandelier's light like frozen moonlight.

The air, thick with unspoken tension, was strongly filled with the scent of roasted meat and sweet spices. My heart, a frantic drum against my ribs, beat a silent, desperate rhythm as I sat, a statue carved of stone, feeling every pulse echo through my veins.

“So now,” Robert’s cheerful announcement was a sudden, joyful clap of thunder, his hands erupting in front of him. A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he bowed with an overly dramatic flourish. “Could your royal, majestic, newly wedded couple,” he declared, his words a playful trap. My stomach performed a nervous pirouette, a strange butterfly of feeling fluttering within.

I rose to my feet, but a familiar panic took hold, rooting me to the spot next to my husband. My mind raced, anticipating his next move so I could follow.

But a new thought, sharp and unwelcome, pierced through my hesitation. Hadn't I just agreed to the cooking? Shouldn’t I be saying I'm not interested in the meal? The scent of roasting herbs and garlic wafted from the kitchen, a fragrant reminder of my own suggestion, and a hot blush crept up my neck.

I was a puppet with tangled strings—pulled in one direction by my husband and in another by my own contradictory impulses. The silence stretched, thick as molasses, as the gentle buzz of conversation from the kitchen faded to a distant hum.

Then, betraying my plans, a loud growl, an unholy roar from my empty stomach, filled the silent room. My face burned with shame. I wished for the floor to open and swallow me whole. "Oh... sorry about that," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. Collins's face remained a mask of cold disdain. The chill of it sent a shiver through me.

"Please, come over... it seems this big boy isn't eating here today as usual," Robert said, his words a careless jab. The fear that had momentarily subsided surged back. Why didn't Collins eat here? Had he been poisoned before? My mind raced, tears stinging my eyes, but I forced them back. "He only prefers my drinks here," Robert added with a slight chuckle, and the tension in my shoulders eased.

My hunger, a relentless master, swiftly led me to the dining room. My eyes drank in the sight of Robert's bar, a dazzling display of polished bottles and gleaming glass. I swallowed hard, a dry, rasping sound, and took my seat.

It was the maid that was supposed to open the tray lid, but hunger wouldn't just make me calm. With a shaky hand, I reached for the tray lid. I lifted it, and a gasp escaped my lips.

The food was a feast for the gods. A mountain of white rice stood beside a plate piled high with a whole chicken, glistening and perfectly garnished, and a scattering of golden-fried eggs. The aroma filled my senses, and I was lost.

I scooped a generous portion onto my plate, my movements quick and decisive. My stomach took control over me, and nothing else mattered but the food. I ate like a wild animal, devouring the meal with a single-minded intensity. I didn't care about the others; I was in a world of my own.

I haven't even eaten since the day before yesterday. I didn't bother to check their facial expressions, but what I just knew is that… They both left the dining room and went into a hollow room.I didn't care because I was very hungry.

Afterwards, the food, a warm weight in my stomach and the wine, a smooth warmth in my throat, then, a heavy drowsiness began to descend. A yawn stretched my jaw, my eyelids grew heavy, and the room began to spin. I managed to walk back over to the sitting room, the world blurring around me.

I heard a loud sound of glass breaking, but I was too weak to just look back for it as I kept crawling to the sitting room. The work was so slow, a hard task which I must fulfil.

While I got there, the last thing I remembered was the softness of the couch before everything went dark.