Chapter 78

The relentless rain had lasted an entire week.

Stella Valentine pushed open the hospital room door, her hair still dripping. She cradled the insulated food container protectively against her chest, careful not to let any rainwater seep in.

"Damn weather," she muttered, shaking her damp sleeves. "If this keeps up, I'll start growing mold."

Joy Fairsprene handed her a towel. "I told you not to come."

"Not a chance," Joy winked mysteriously. "Today's meal is special."

Stella arched an eyebrow. "Did your mother invent another new dish?"

"Wrong!" Joy lifted her chin proudly. "I cooked it myself."

Stella burst out laughing. "The great Miss Fairsprene actually stepped into a kitchen? Last time you tried instant noodles, you nearly blew up the stove."

"Hey!" Joy glared indignantly. "People can change, you know? I studied properly this time."

"Fine," Stella's eyes softened with amusement. "After I'm discharged, I'll teach you some of my signature dishes."

Joy suddenly leaned closer. "When did you learn to cook, Stella? I remember you couldn't even fry an egg before."

Memories flooded back—the aroma of spicy grilled squid from the snack street behind their high school. Back when her mother was strict, Adrian Roland would climb the fence to bring it to her, hiding it under his uniform jacket so she could sneak bites.

"Earth to Stella?" Joy waved a hand in front of her face.

She blinked back to reality. "Life... forces you to adapt, I guess."

The room fell silent.

Joy squeezed her hand. "The doctor said the surgery was successful. You'll recover."

Stella turned to the window. Raindrops streaked down the glass like transparent scars.

"Joy, you know what I want most right now? Just an ordinary, peaceful life."

Joy's eyes reddened. "That bastard is still standing downstairs, soaked to the bone."

Stella's fingers twisted the hospital blanket unconsciously.

"He stops me every time to ask about you," Joy said through gritted teeth. "I told him—as long as I keep bringing meals, it means you're still alive."

The phone rang abruptly.

"Mr. Merovingian?" Stella answered.

"Ethan won't stop demanding to see you," Hugo Merovingian's voice held exasperation. "The little rascal nearly smuggled himself back inside a suitcase."

Stella chuckled. "His health improves and the mischief starts."

"Something strange happened," Hugo's tone turned serious. "How did Adrian find out Ethan is his son? Those paternity reports were clearly—"

Joy suddenly interrupted. "The recording! Stella's recording!"

Silence stretched for several seconds.

"What recording?" Hugo asked.

Stella's chest tightened. "The messages I recorded for Ethan. I mailed them to you on a USB drive."

"I never received it." Hugo's voice dropped dangerously low.