Chapter 102

Finnian quickly called Odalys back, but her phone was switched off. Dumbfounded, he realized his perfect plan had been ruined.

“Odalys, you will regret this,” Finnian said in a hoarse voice. As he spoke, a sharp pain shot through him. His phone fell, and he curled into a ball.

Sophia's image filled his mind: her slowly removing her outerwear, revealing a sexy camisole; her long legs stretching toward him, nuzzling against his thighs as she moved closer.

“Finnian,” she called coquettishly, lifting his chin with her fingertips and moving downwards. He was stunned as she held him down, pressing her body against his. Their clothes fell to the ground.

The images burned into his brain. He struggled to shake them off, but Sophia's image persisted. Finally, in pain, his eyes turned red and lifeless, and the images faded. He picked up his phone, glanced at the screen, and drove back to his apartment.

Odalys remained calm. She looked at the clock: four in the morning. Having slept early, she felt energetic and went downstairs for a morning run.

“Mrs. Stewart!” The bodyguard was shocked.

Odalys, seeing his surprise, pointed outside. “I’m going for a run.”

“Yes,” the bodyguard quickly replied, retreating. They watched from a distance as she ran through the backyard.

Odalys hadn't realized the immense size of the Stewart Villa. Until now, she’d only eaten and slept there. Her morning run revealed a vast, garden-like backyard.

The path was clean, the flowers and plants meticulously trimmed. Hundreds of flowers filled the side courtyard, and a garden brimming with various herbs lay ahead. She jogged to the far end, discovering a small bridge, a river, a rockery, and a pond with curling smoke. After an hour and a half, she returned to her starting point.

“Good morning, Mrs. Stewart!” Dorian, waking to see her wiping sweat, rushed forward. “Did you go out?”

“No, I went for a run,” she replied.

Dorian checked the time. “Then I’ll cook you breakfast. What would you like, Mrs. Stewart?”

“No need, I’ll do it myself,” Odalys said, heading to the kitchen.

The kitchen was spotless, the fridge stocked with ingredients. She selected tomatoes, beef, and garlic, preparing a delicious meal. The aroma filled the kitchen, making her stomach rumble. She grabbed a bowl, realizing she’d cooked too much.

She sensed someone approaching. “Do you want to eat?” she asked softly.

“Okay,” Percival’s hoarse voice answered.

Stunned, Odalys turned to see a neatly dressed Percival. The surprise in her eyes was evident. “I thought it was Dorian!” she exclaimed, laughing and crying at once. It was only six o'clock; she was surprised he was already awake.

“Am I not included?” His hoarse voice deepened as he approached, his tall frame looming over her, his gaze fixed on the overflowing pot.

As he neared, her body froze. She caught the scent of fresh mint and herbs on him – an exceptionally pleasant aroma.

“If you want to eat, help yourself,” she said, taking her bowl and leaving.

Percival followed, taking a clean bowl and serving himself.

They ate quietly at the dining table. Percival was surprised. “You used to cook often?”

Odalys ate, replying without looking up, “I grew up in the mountains. If I didn't cook, I'd starve. I cooked for my mentor every day.”

It was rare to hear her speak of her past. After a pause, he said, “Your mentor taught you well.”

Odalys smiled proudly. “Of course!”

Percival’s mood lifted. “After the variety show, do you want to visit your mentor? Does he know about your marriage?”

Odalys put down her fork, wiped her mouth, and returned to the kitchen with her bowl.

“My mentor is a fortune teller. What do you think?” she winked before getting up. Percival watched her thoughtfully, lost in contemplation.

He recalled that when the Bennetts came looking for her, her mentor had told her it was time to leave, warning of a calamity and urging her return to Crownridge. She pondered: Did my mentor know I was going to die in my past life? She shook her head, dismissing the thought.

“Mrs. Stewart, leave the dishes; I’ll wash them,” Dorian rushed in, feeling pressured by her cooking breakfast and washing dishes.

“It’s fine. I made too much. Would you like some?” Odalys offered, gesturing towards the pot.

Flattered, Dorian quickly served himself a bowl.

After eating, she fell into deep thought, feeling unprecedented pressure. Her culinary skills were exceptional, setting a high standard for others.

At 7:30 pm, Odalys arrived at the airport with a backpack and suitcase.

“It’s Odalys!” A cheer erupted.

Turning, she saw a group of people rushing towards her with posters. She fell silent as they approached.

“Odalys! It’s amazing to meet you! You’re so beautiful without makeup!” one exclaimed.

“Odalys, when will you open a social media account? Share your daily life!” another requested.

“Can you tell my fortune? I’ll do anything!” a third pleaded.

They surged forward, maintaining a respectful distance, as if afraid of startling her.