The conversation should have started immediately. The weight of their halted discussion pressed down on her like an unseen force, heavy and suffocating. But instead, Mrs. Whitlock reached for a serving spoon, her movements graceful and deliberate. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, a knowing glint in her eyes. “But we eat first.” Just like that, the tension in the air shifted—not gone, but momentarily replaced by the rich, mouthwatering aroma of the food before them. The spread was nothing short of extravagant. Fluffy, golden croissants sat next to neatly arranged fruit platters, the vibrant colors of strawberries, grapes, and mango slices glistening under the dining room’s elegant lighting. There were delicate smoked salmon canapés, eggs cooked to perfection, and a creamy dish that looked like it had been lifted straight from a five-star restaurant’s menu. She watched, slightly stunned, as Mrs. Whitlock served her husband first, then herself, and—to her utter surprise—
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