Chapter 70: Impatient
Naomi didn’t know why, but her heart began to thud loudly in her chest. The sound seemed so intense that she feared it might echo through the stillness of the dining room. She couldn’t fathom what was happening, yet her cheeks warmed with a faint pink hue creeping across them. She bit the inside of her lip, trying to calm the inexplicable rush of emotions, but disbelief gripped her tightly. Could it really be happening just as she had asked about him?
Her flush deepened, her hands tightening around the fork as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. The room suddenly grew unnervingly quiet, and she became hyperaware of the faint sounds around her—the muffled rustle of clothing, the soft clatter of utensils being moved. The air was thick with anticipation, and Naomi couldn’t shake the feeling that something monumental was unfolding, something she wasn’t fully prepared for.
Then, the quiet was broken. Naomi’s eyes darted up briefly, catching a glimpse of the chefs who had stood in perfect formation moments ago. Without a word, they began to move in unison, their footsteps barely audible on the polished floor. She watched in confusion as each one bowed in a synchronized manner before silently retreating from the room.
Even Rhea, who had been standing at the corner of the room, lowered her head respectfully. "Mrs. Naomi," Rhea said softly, her tone reverent yet cryptic. There was something in her voice—something Naomi couldn’t quite place—that sent a chill down her spine.
Naomi blinked, unsure of what to make of the sudden change in atmosphere. Rhea didn’t offer any explanation; instead, she gracefully turned and exited, leaving Naomi alone at the table. Her lips parted slightly as if to call after her, but no words came.
What’s going on? Naomi wondered, her mind racing. Did Zylan give them some kind of signal? If he did, she had missed it entirely.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her next bite of food, forcing herself to maintain an air of composure. Was she nervous? She couldn’t bring herself to turn around and see him, even though she was very much aware he was the one. The tension in her shoulders grew heavier with each passing second, her instincts screaming at her to react, yet she remained frozen.
Instead, she focused on her plate, pretending to eat as though nothing had changed. But the pretense was fragile at best. Her fork scraped softly against the porcelain as she picked up another bite, her movements precise yet mechanical. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but even that felt like a struggle.
And then, she heard it.
Footsteps again.
They were faint at first, distant, but with each passing moment, they grew louder, each step measured and deliberate. The sound echoed in the vast dining hall, every click of polished shoes against the floor amplifying the rapid thudding of her heart. Her grip on the fork tightened until her knuckles turned white, but she didn’t dare turn to look.