13. His Act of Service

AMBER. As I walked through the long hallway, a fragrant aroma began to waft up. A mixture of melted butter, spices I didn't recognize, and something sweet. I frowned. Normally, such a scent only existed in the morning, when the servants were already preparing breakfast. But this felt... different. I followed the scent all the way to the kitchen, and when I entered, the sight I saw transfixed me. There, Vincent-yes, Vincent the cold, charismatic mobster-stood at the stove in a black apron that seemed too small for his masculine body. He was busy stirring something in a pan, while one of the waiters stood beside him, giving him the ingredients he needed. "Vincent?" my voice sounded shaky, more out of shock than fear. All this time, I had only known Vincent as a man who was firm, in control, and completely uninterested in domestic matters like this. He turned his head slowly, a small smile etched at the corner of his lips. "Ah, you're awake." His tone was low, yet there was a warmth that made me feel strange. I blinked a few times, making sure what I was seeing was real. "Are you... cooking?" I asked hesitantly. Vincent placed the spatula on the table and walked over. The way he walked, confident and calm, made me feel a little flutter in my chest. "Don't look so surprised, Amber. I'm not entirely made of steel, you know." I swallowed, trying to calm myself down. "I just... didn't expect it. You seem-I don't know-like the type to tell people what to do." He chuckled, his heavy voice echoing in the room. "It's true, I don't usually cook. But this morning I wanted to try something. For you." "For me?" Now I was really confused. Vincent nodded, then turned towards the stove. He picked up a plate and with deft movements poured something from the pan onto it. The fragrant aroma wafted over me, making my empty stomach churn. He walked back towards me, carrying a plate of perfect-looking pancakes, topped with maple syrup and fresh fruit slices. "Good morning," he said as he handed the plate to me with such a smooth gesture, as if he was a true gentleman. I frowned, still having trouble processing what was happening. Vincent, the mobster who I had only seen as a symbol of power and assertiveness, was now standing in front of me with a plate of pancakes. He even looked at me with a gentle expression, like he was waiting for my reaction. "Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice a little hoarse. Vincent leaned slightly towards me, looking at me deeply with his piercing dark eyes. "Because I can, Amber. And because I want to show you that I wasn't always the man you feared." I paused, not knowing what to say. There was something in his gaze that made me feel disarmed. I wasn't sure if I should feel comfortable or increasingly suspicious. "Come on, eat," he said again, this time in a softer tone. "I've gotten up earlier than usual to prepare this. Don't let my efforts go to waste." I took the plate hesitantly. The pancakes looked perfect, like something I would see in a magazine. With slow movements, I cut a small piece and popped it into my mouth. The right amount of sweetness, soft texture, and rich buttery aroma immediately filled my tongue. "How was it?" Vincent asked, his tone sounding like a man who knew exactly that he had done a wonderful job. "Delicious," I replied briefly, although I had to admit that these were probably the best pancakes I had ever eaten. Vincent smiled with satisfaction, then returned to the stove. "Good. I think I should cook more often." I stared at his broad back, still unable to believe what had just happened. The Vincent I had known to be harsh and unforgiving was now showing a different side. I don't know if I should feel happy or even more wary. However, one thing is for sure-Vincent always knows how to make me lose my words. *** I sat at the large dining table that felt more spacious than usual. The morning sunlight filtered through the large glass window, giving a warm glow to the perfectly arranged porcelain plates and silverware. I felt strange being here this morning, especially with what I had just witnessed in the kitchen. Vincent, the man I had known as cold, strong, and in control, was now busy with several maids, arranging the food on the dining table. I can't take my eyes off him. He was still wearing his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, but now without an apron. There was something different about him this morning. There was still firmness in the way he stood and moved, but I could catch a hint of awkwardness in his movements. One of the maids stood beside me, pouring orange juice into the glass in front of me. Meanwhile, Vincent walked over with a large white bowl filled with soup that gave off a warm aroma. He placed it carefully in front of me, then looked at me with his dark eyes that were hard to interpret. "This is for you," he said briefly, his tone remaining low and slightly stiff, as always. I stared at the soup, the steam billowing, carrying the rich aroma of chicken broth and soothing spices. The soup looked clear with chunks of fresh vegetables and small pieces of tender chicken meat. "Soup?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper. Vincent pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. He stared at me for a few seconds before replying, "You still seem unsettled. I thought this might help you." I paused. His words cut straight to the core of my anxiety. After what happened a few nights ago, I was devastated. Fear, anger, and confusion still lingered like dark shadows that continued to haunt me. I almost lost control of myself-if only Vincent hadn't arrived on time. "Thank you," I said softly, though the sound was almost drowned out by the clinking of spoons held by one of the maids. Vincent gave a small nod, then turned to one of the maids who was carrying another plate of food. The plate was placed in front of me. When I saw the contents, I was stunned. "This...," I stared at Vincent, incredulous. "Yes," he cut in before I could finish my sentence. "I remember you liked this." In front of me was now a plate of lasagna with a layer of perfectly melted cheese on top, exuding an alluring aroma. It was my favorite food. I remember mentioning it once, when we accidentally discussed food during an awkward conversation some time ago. I never thought she would actually remember it, let alone make it. "How did you know?" I asked, my voice almost shaking. Vincent looked at me with a look that I couldn't quite read. "I know more about you than you think, Amber." There was a silence that hung between us. I wanted to say something, but I felt tongue-tied. I looked down, staring at the lasagna in front of me, and felt a surge of emotions that I couldn't control. "Amber," Vincent's voice called my name softly. I looked up, and he continued, "I can't change what happened. But I want to make sure you don't feel alone." I looked at him, searching for the sincerity behind his cold eyes. He was a man full of contradictions-hard on the outside, but there was a tenderness that only appeared at certain moments. "Thank you, Vincent," I said finally, trying to convey my gratitude even though words felt inadequate. He nodded once more, then turned his gaze to his own food. A little awkwardly, he began to eat, trying to avoid eye contact with me. I picked up the spoon and tasted the soup in front of me. It tasted amazing. Warm, creamy, and soothing, as if she really put good intentions into it. For the first time in days, I felt that something was restoring. Although I still find it difficult to understand what Vincent is thinking, one thing is certain: behind his cold demeanor, he cares. And this morning, that was enough to make me feel a little better. *** The blue sky stretched above my head, dotted with white clouds that slowly moved with the wind. The waves from the sea in front of me became the perfect background music, calming my mind that had been filled with chaos. The backyard of this mansion has been my favorite place since I arrived here. The green grass overlooking the sea feels like a place apart from the world, a space where I can breathe without feeling pressured. I sat on a wooden bench facing the horizon, letting the soft morning sunlight touch my skin. The fresh sea breeze blew through my hair, making me feel a little lighter. I've spent several nights here, listening to the incessant sound of the sea hitting the reef. The sound became a kind of therapy, replacing the nightmares that often haunted me. However, even though this place gives me peace of mind, the image of what happened a few nights ago still occasionally pops into my mind. I try to forget, try to ignore the fear that still sneaks in between my thoughts. But it was difficult. The wound hadn't fully healed. I heard footsteps from behind me. I knew who it was before I even turned my head. Heavy yet measured steps, filled with a presence that was impossible to ignore. "I told you, you don't have to avoid me," Vincent's voice sounded low and calm, as usual. I turned my head slightly, looking at him. He was wearing a black shirt folded up to his elbows, as usual, making him look like an immovable figure. Vincent stood there, looking at me with a serious gaze, but there was something different in his eyes this time. Something softer, more human. "I'm not avoiding you," I replied, my voice almost a whisper. "I just... need some time alone." Vincent came over and sat on the same bench as me, keeping a polite distance. For a moment, he didn't say anything. He just stared at the sea, just like me, as if the lapping waves brought him peace as well. "How do you feel?" he asked finally, his voice low but firm. I was silent for a moment, trying to string together an answer. "Better," I said honestly. "The sound of the sea helps. It feels... like something is washing away all the dirty inside my head." Vincent nodded slowly, his expression hard to read. "The sea has a way of doing that. It makes us feel small, but stronger at the same time." I turned to him, surprised by those words. I never thought a man like Vincent-who always seemed so hard and untouchable-could say something so poetic. But I didn't say anything. I just looked back at the sea, letting his words echo in my mind. "You don't have to force yourself to forget," she continued, her tone a little softer. "Some things just can't be forgotten. But you can learn to make peace with them." I swallowed, feeling my throat constrict. His words felt so close, like he understood something that even I couldn't quite grasp. "I try," I whispered, barely audible. She didn't answer. Instead, he just sat there, his quiet presence providing a strange sense of security. Something had changed in the way he looked at me. I could feel it, even though he didn't say it. It was as if, he wasn't just making sure I was okay out of responsibility, but because he genuinely cared. I stole a glance at him, trying to understand what was behind that serious expression. Vincent had always looked tough, but now there was a gentleness I had never seen before. "I never thought you were the type to sit and enjoy the sea," I said softly, trying to distract myself from my own feelings. He smiled faintly, a smile that rarely appeared on his face. "There's a lot about me you don't know, Amber." Our gazes meet, and for the first time, I see something different in his eyes. An unspoken promise, a determination to protect. He doesn't say anything, but I can feel it. I looked back at the sea, letting the wind carry all the weight that still hung on my chest. Next to me, Vincent sat in silence, but his presence spoke more than words. For a moment, I felt that maybe I didn't have to face everything alone.