?<strong>Chapter 184:</strong>


    Meanwhile, Kristopher, relegated to the bed, watched her with a mix of annoyance and dismay, his features clouding over with frustration. The room fell silent briefly before a gentle knocking at the door broke the quiet.


    The soft sound was followed by Mny’s voice. “Carrie, are you guys still awake?” Her inquiry seemedced with anticipation, as if she were about to unearth some intimate secret about their evening.


    Carrie let out a weary sigh, her patience worn thin by Mny’s persistent intrusiveness. Despite Mny’s wishes for familial peace, Carrie resolved that this time she would not sacrifice her ownfort.


    “Mny, we’re up,” she called out with a resigned tone, setting aside her phone and rising from the sofa’s embrace. As she approached the door, it swung open.


    Mny surveyed her with a fleeting nce. Spotting her fully clothed, Mny’s expression fell to one of palpable disappointment, her hand pping dismissively in the air. A maid promptly emerged, bearing a tray.


    Mny forced a smile, presenting the offerings. “I’ve brought some honey milk for Kristopher and a bowl of milk with fish maw for you, Carrie. It’s sure to ensure a restful night.”


    “Thanks, Mny,” Carrie responded, epting the tray.


    Mny wasted no time in securing the door behind her, locking it swiftly as if to prevent any chance of Carrie slipping away.


    With a resigned chuckle, Carrie proceeded into the room, cing the honey milk on the bedside table beside Kristopher. “Mny made this especially for you,” she remarked.


    She retreated to the couch, cradling her bowl of milk steeped with fish maw. The delicacy, a luxury far removed from her usual pantry staples, mingled perfectly with the fresh milk and a hint of rock sugar, devoid of any briny aftertaste. Soft and decadently smooth, it stood in stark contrast to the cheap instant versions she had stocked.


    The thrill of having money was intoxicating, and she made up her mind to hustle hard to achieve this independence once again.


    Kristopher eyed her curiously, extending his hand. “Is it as delightful as it looks? May I try?” His usual indifference to culinary pleasures seemed to falter, piqued by her evident enjoyment.


    Carrie brushed off Kristopher’s request. “No way, drink your own.” She then promptly devoured thest bits of fish maw with hurried enthusiasm.


    Kristopher paused, absorbing the rebuff. Then, in a fluid motion, he gulped down the hangover soup next to him, cing the bowl back on the table with a faint tter that betrayed his irritation. “If anyone saw how you guard your food, they might think the Norris family doesn’t feed you well,” he remarked.


    His choice of words was deliberate; he had almost likened her actions to those of a dog guarding its meal but thought better of it at thest second.


    Full yet somehow restless, Carrie longed to take a shower and drift off to sleep, but Kristopher’s presence in the room made that ufortable.


    Instead, she distracted herself by flicking through videos on her phone. However, focusing proved difficult. A strange warmth was spreading through her, distracting and intense.


    She hitched up her skirt to expose her legs to the cool evening air, hoping to alleviate the difort, but the heat only deepened.


    .


    .


    .