Chapter 844

“Millie, what has transpired?” Marcus’ voice reverberated, infused with genuine concern.

“Darling, my constitution doth throb with pain. Rhea…” Millie’s eyes welled up with tears, were fixed

upon Rhea, who grimaced in affliction. “It’s of no concern to me. Millie, you wretch.”

“Rhea, unless you yearn for a flight off the balcony, I urge you to depart. Immediatel:

Marcus’ index finger pointed towards the exit with resolute authority. “Marcus,” Rhea contested.

Marcus’ motion was resolute, his gaze metamorphosing into an abyss of menace.

With eyes brimming with tears, Rhea relented, spiraling and dashing towards the Lower reaches.

Millie straightened, exhaling a sigh imbued with relief. At Last, she had driven Rhea away. Watching

her retreat in chagrin and defeat bestowed upon Millie a surge of gratification

She was cognizant of Rhea’s susceptibility to Marcus’ sentiments. A mere “depart” issued by Marcus

equated to a seismic denunciation in Rhea’s estimation.

“Were you not plagued by a stomachache?” Marcus observed Millie’s recuperation, the pallor of

discomfort vanishing from her visage, replaced by an aura of normalcy.

A trace of mirth glimmered in Marcus’ eyes as he scrutinized the rapid shift from agonized to

composed.

“Well, earlier, the agony was most keen, yet now I’m on the mend,”

Millie responded. Her jest, it appeared, had been unmasked, leaving Millie tinged with an undertone of

chagrin.

Averting her gaze, Millie sidestepped Marcus’ path and gravitated towards a recliner nestled on the

balcony. There, beneath the canopy of stars, she found repose.

Nevertheless, Marcus pursued his course.

“What would you like to eat? I shall enlist Derek’s aid to bring it forthwith,” Marcus ventured.

Surveying the time, Millie apprehended that the clock’s hands had advanced to the eighth hour of the

evening.

“The hour is quite advanced. I shall manage on my own,” she asserted. While fashioning a beverage

earlier, she had observed provisions nestled within the refrigerator.

Marcus’ intent was clear: he had fabricated a pretext to evade Mylo and his comrades, striving to

safeguard an interval of solitude with Millie.

In truth, the pangs of hunger eluded Millie’s constitution. Yet her ardor for Marcus impelled her to

undertake the culinary endeavor, despite her own indisposition.

The timeless wisdom held true-the route to a man’s affection coursed through his taste buds.

Enveloped in the allure of her affection for Marcus, Millie found herself so captivated that she felt an

insistent compulsion to prepare a meal for him, even amidst her own state of discomfort.

“You’re prohibited from cooking,” Marcus proclaimed, tenderly retracting Millie’s frame and sitting into

the recliner himself, his embrace enveloping her in its secure cocoon.

Kneading her temples, Millie discerned the predilection Marcus exhibited for this intimate embrace. In

this setting, he was prone to a semblance of overbearance.