Chapter 259
Chapter 259:
And still, she wasn’t satisfied. Some days, she arrived with a thermal container from home, cradling broth she had painstakingly practiced from borrowed recipes—the kind of soup that promised homely comfort more than flavor.
“How does it taste?” she asked, watching Austin sip, her gaze balanced precariously between hope and nerves.
Cooking was hardly a talent she bragged about. More often than not, the result leaned closer to earnest effort than culinary delight.
Austin set the spoon down, his tone steady and sincere. “It tastes good p>
“Really?” Her brow lifted, skepticism plain in her eyes.
“Yes. Whatever you make is the best,” he replied without missing a beat.
Color crept up her cheeks. She turned quickly, fussing with the thermal container as if it suddenly required great attention. “You’re just sweet-talking p>
𝘚𝗍𝗼𝗿𝘪𝘦𝗌 y𝗈𝘶 𝘄оո’𝘵 𝗉𝘂t 𝗱o𝘸𝗻 o𝗻
Austin’s gaze lingered on her profile, his eyes softening with a warmth he didn’t bother to hide.
The truth was, the broth was clumsy—slightly burnt at the edges, plain at best. But to him, nothing tasted better than this.
The quiet rhythm of their days, however, rarely stayed undisturbed.
Miguel had taken to sneaking into the ward like a burglar. Every day he appeared with fresh documents, timing his arrivals for when Brinley stepped out for water or took a call. He’d slip inside, files clutched to his chest, and report in a whisper as though running an undercover operation.
“Mr. Moore, regarding those partners p>
“Shh.” Austin cut him off, gesturing toward the door. “Keep your voice down p>
Miguel obeyed instantly, his throat bobbing with a nervous swallow as his eyes darted toward the hallway.
Working for a man who deferred so completely to his wife was a peculiar kind of pressure. If Brinley caught him delivering work again, Miguel half believed she’d have his head.
His paranoia wasn’t unfounded.
One afternoon, just as he crept in with another stack of files, a cool voice sounded behind him.
“Miguel. Delivering more documents p>
He startled so badly he nearly dropped the whole bundle.
He turned, stiff as a soldier caught in the wrong uniform, his smile twisting somewhere between apology and panic. “Mrs. Moore… I was only checking on Mr. Moore’s recovery p>
Brinley’s gaze fell on the stack in his arms, her brows arching with quiet disapproval. “Are these urgent p>
“Not… not especially urgent,” Miguel stammered, his eyes sliding away.
Austin cleared his throat lightly, offering him a lifeline. “They’re routine files. I’ll just take a look p>