The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet novel Chapter 1916

Alaric swallowed his anger just as it was about to burst out. Forget it, arguing with Hertha was pointless. Winning the argument meant she might leave, and he'd be left all alone. Losing meant he could at least enjoy the meals she cooked.

"Why would I drive you away? I'm exhausted. I'm going to lie down for a bit. Call me when dinner's ready," Alaric said, his tone now casual as he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Hertha rolled her eyes at his retreating back and got back to her tasks.

Sitting on the couch, Alaric's stomach was growling louder than a bear. Including today, it had been two whole days since he last ate. A weaker person would have caved by now. The fact that he was still holding on was nothing short of a miracle.

Leaning back on the couch, the sounds of pots and pans clinking in the kitchen reached his ears. Alaric found himself glancing towards the kitchen out of habit. There was Hertha, bustling about, flipping something in a skillet one moment and washing vegetables in the sink the next.

A smile tugged at Alaric's lips. Who knew she was capable of multitasking like that?

As he watched, he pulled a blanket over himself, feeling a chill. Whether it was from hunger or the remnants of his illness, he couldn't tell.

The blanket fluttered, bringing with it a breeze scented with the fragrance of soap. Alaric stiffened for a moment, then pulled the blanket closer to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent grew clearer, richer.

It was the scent that haunted his dreams, a reminder of three years past. Whenever he felt lost, in pain, or terribly alone in the dead of night, that scent was his solace. It was uniquely Hertha's.

She must have used this blanket, leaving her scent behind. Alaric greedily inhaled, basking in the fragrance that was all Hertha.

Time seemed to blur until the kitchen door swung open and Hertha emerged with a dish in hand, calling out to him, "Alaric, dinner's ready."

Snapping back to reality, Alaric's fox-like eyes lazily responded, "Oh, coming."

As Hertha turned to head back to the kitchen, she noticed Alaric clutching the blanket to his face. Curiosity piqued, she asked, "Alaric, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. What could be wrong?" His response was absent-minded, his focus still on the blanket, longing for the scent that lingered.

Hertha stood before him, yet he seemed more attached to the blanket than to her presence, longing for past moments of warmth.

"If you're alright, then come on over, the soup's ready. Don't let it get cold," Hertha said, turning back towards the kitchen.

Worried about upsetting Hertha, Alaric reluctantly set the blanket aside and trudged over to the dining table. Two dishes greeted him: stir-fried pork with herbs and a side of sautéed kale. Alaric couldn't help but frown slightly.

During the wait, Hertha brought over the soup she had been simmering, placing one bowl in front of Alaric and another across the table for herself, then sitting down opposite him.

"Eat it while it's hot," she said offhandedly.