I grabbed my bag and headed out. I needed to finalize my racing license and entry documents.
But just as I stepped outside, Adele strolled over.
“You heading out?” she asked casually. “I’ve been craving the pastries from that shop in the north alley. Can you bring me some back?”
Then she added with a triumphant grin, “Thanks for the favor, Mrs. Trivett.”
She stressed the words 'Mrs. Trivett' like a slap to the face, looking me up and down with that same smugness.
I glanced at the red marks on her neck, proof of her night with Sebastian, and felt my fingers curl into fists. I couldn’t stand it, so I left without another word.
After I got everything sorted for the race, I wandered around aimlessly until nightfall before slowly making my way back.
I dropped the pastries on the coffee table and headed upstairs, hoping to avoid everyone.
But Sebastian’s voice cut through the silence behind me.
“You came back and didn’t even say hello?”
I ignored him.
But his tone cooled further. “Come here.”
I calmly slipped off my shoes and put them in the cabinet, my face unreadable.
“Polly,” he said, more sternly, “I don’t like repeating myself.”
Not wanting to start a fight right before leaving, I reluctantly sat beside him.
He frowned, studying my face. “Where have you been all day? You didn’t even make food for Adele or Christian. What kind of housewife can’t even manage the basics? We had to eat instant noodles because of that.”
“Nowhere in particular. Just wandered around,” I simply replied.
He seemed unsettled by my coldness. For a second, something flickered across his face.
He picked up a slice of carrot with his chopsticks and dropped it in my bowl. “You haven’t eaten, have you? Eat something before going back to your room.”
I looked at the carrot and let out a bitter laugh. “Sebastian, I’m allergic to carrots. I can’t eat them.”
He froze, clearly surprised. But before he could react, I pushed back my chair and walked out.
After my shower that night, I stepped out of the bathroom only to find Sebastian sitting on my bed, going through my laptop.
I swallowed the disgust rising in my throat and asked, “Do you need something?”
But he didn’t answer my question and just remarked, “Looks like you’ve cleared out a lot of your stuff from the room.”
My heart skipped a beat. Was he onto me? Was he going to ruin my escape?
“I just got bored,” I replied calmly. “Thought I’d change the decor.”