Inside the villa.
Elijah reclined in the hot spring pool, his eyes closed in relaxation. Beside him, Albin gripped a handheld game console, his fingers dancing across the controls with intense concentration. Each button press seemed to carry the weight of an epic battle.
Camille quietly raised her phone, capturing a candid moment of Elizabeth leaning against the pool’s edge.
The camera’s subtle click caused Elijah’s eyes to flutter open momentarily.
Elizabeth’s skin glowed with a flush from the heat. Droplets of water traced a delicate path—from her hairline, down her cheek, along her neck, skimming her collarbone before disappearing beneath the water’s surface. The intimate journey of each droplet held a quiet sensuality.
Memories flooded Elijah’s mind. He recalled her face during their most passionate moments, her eyes glistening with tears of pleasure. The recollection stirred something deep within him, a primal desire to possess her once more.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to shut his eyes and redirect his thoughts to more professional concerns.
Unaware of Elijah’s lingering gaze, Camille stashed her phone away. Her face flushed crimson as she scrambled out of the hot water. “Nope, I’m done! I can’t handle this anymore. Seriously, I’m out of breath!”
Albin, having just conquered the final boss in his game, set down the console and shot her a mocking grin. “Your stamina’s pathetic. We’ve barely been soaking for a few minutes, and you’re already giving up?”
Seeking solidarity, Camille turned to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, do you hear how he talks? Absolutely zero filter!”
Albin leaned back smugly, his grin spreading like butter on hot toast. “Hey, I’m just being honest. Four of us are sitting here, and you’re the only one about to keel over. Face it—you’re a lightweight.” With mock theatrics, he flexed his arms, his biceps gleaming under the soft lights.
“Unlike me, of course. These guns? They’ve got Fayedge Mountain written all over them. I could sprint around that beast twice and still have energy to spare.”
Camille rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t roll straight out of her head. “Congratulations. You’ve officially become a walking fitness meme.”
Elizabeth, her energy levels dipping, stood and stretched languidly. “Honestly, I’m starting to feel it too. This heat’s no joke.”
Elijah, still leaning into his silence, kept his eyes closed, exuding an air of indifference. Sensing that pushing Elizabeth further might backfire, Albin wisely zipped his lips.
He wasn’t in the mood to go one against two, especially with Elijah unlikely to back him up.
Forget it. No point in arguing.
Stepping out of the pool, he wrapped himself in a robe and moved to the sofa. “I’m starving. We’ve got ingredients. How about we prepare something to eat?”
Camille sprawled across the sofa and retorted sharply, “Cook it yourself. When did I become your personal chef?”
“I didn’t-“
Before she could continue, the in-house phone interrupted their banter. Albin answered, and a staff member’s courteous voice filled the line. “Good evening, sir. We’re offering a private buffet in the restaurant just below your villa. The space is exclusively reserved for your party. Our chef stands ready to prepare any dishes you desire.”
“Perfect,” Albin responded, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “We’ll be down soon. Start with your best offerings.”
As he hung up, he shot Camille a victorious look. “See? Sometimes luck is on my side. Think about food, and dinner materializes.”
In the restaurant
The group arrived in the private dining room, freshly changed into clean attire. A pungent aroma of chili peppers saturated the air. The table was laden with fiery dishes—spicy crawfish, chili-glazed chicken, and an array of mouth-searing plates that promised to bring tears to one’s eyes.
Albin confronted the chef with characteristic bluntness. “Can we have some milder options? How are we supposed to eat this inferno?”
Elijah’s gaze drifted momentarily, landing briefly on Elizabeth.
Camille, impulsive as ever, exclaimed, “Elizabeth, look! These are all your favorite dishes!”
She linked her arm through Elizabeth’s, a playful glint in her eye. “Must have been arranged by that old friend of yours.”
Albin, catching the storm brewing in Elijah’s darkening expression, quickly intervened. “Stop hovering like statues! I’m starving. Let’s eat and talk.”
They settled around the table. Elijah’s silence hung heavy, dissatisfaction radiating from him.
Elizabeth selected a fork and offered another to Camille. A plate of spicy beef strips glistening with chili oil sat before her. She speared a piece, tasted it, and declared, “It’s good.”
Elijah reached for his fork, sampled a piece, and promptly deposited it in the trash with a dismissive gesture.
“Overcooked,” he stated flatly. “Tough. The seasoning hasn’t penetrated at all.”
Disdain dripped from every word.
Only then did Elizabeth remember Elijah’s own exceptional version of this dish, prepared meticulously in their home kitchen.
Sensing his prickliness, she chose to preserve the evening’s harmony.
After a moment’s hesitation, she met his eyes and offered soft praise. “Yours truly did taste better.”
It wasn’t mere flattery. Elizabeth knew Elijah’s excellence was genuine—he excelled at everything he undertook.
Elijah’s expression softened marginally. He addressed the waiter. “A bottle of mineral water.”
“Elijah, how could you-” Albin began, only to be silenced by Elijah’s glacial stare.
Camille raised her hand. “Mango juice for me.”
“Me too,” Albin chimed in.
She rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously copying me?”
“Copying? No way. I just like mango,” Albin countered.
Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her temple. How did these two manage to transform every interaction into an argument?
The waiter turned to her. “What would you like, Miss?”
“Iced cola,” she responded evenly.
He cast her a subtle, unreadable glance before quietly departing to fulfill their orders.
