Chapter 7
When dinner was served, I spotted more things that were off.
The white plates, silver cutlery, the clear soup, and the herbs were placed with almost mathematical precision.
Anything Benjamin made always looked amazing.
Back when he won awards overseas, a reporter once asked him what the most important rule for a chef was.
He said, "Always remember what your family can't eat."
But tonight, not a single dish was made for me.
One had alcohol in it.
Another one had that essential oil I was allergic to.
And the crab in the center of the table was Elsie's favorite.
I sat at the table, not taking a single bite.
Benjamin glanced at me a few times and finally asked, "Why aren't you eating?"
"I can't eat any of this," I said.
He looked like he'd just remembered, and his hand froze mid-air.
The silver fork tapped against the plate, letting out a soft, clear sound.
I asked, "Ben, do you remember I'm allergic to crab?"
Benjamin's face went a little pale. "I've been so busy lately. I'll have the kitchen make something else for you."
"You never used to forget."
He swallowed hard, and then quickly masked his embarrassment.
"Everyone slips up sometimes. I didn't mean to," he said.
I lowered my head and gave a small smile. "Yeah, I know."
*****
After dinner, Benjamin had the butler, Ethan, take me back to my room. But when I tried to unlock the door, the code didn't work.
Ethan looked a bit embarrassed. "Ms. Lake, your room has been tidied up recently, and the password has been changed."
"What's the new password?" I asked.
Ethan glanced at Benjamin.
Benjamin walked over and punched in six numbers.
The lock chimed with a playful music box jingle.
Then the door swung open.
The numbers on the screen were Elsie's birthday.
Benjamin said quietly, "Elsie wasn't feeling well lately and couldn't sleep anywhere unfamiliar, so she stayed here for a few days."
"What about my stuff?" I asked.
"It's all in the storage room."
"So my room was just lent to her for a while?"
He didn't say anything.
The curtains were different now.
On the bedside table was the scented candle Elsie liked.
The closet was half open, and inside hung a few dresses that clearly weren't mine.
My bed, my books, and the old script I used to hide under my pillow were all gone.
Benjamin's voice dropped. "Evelyn, don't always see things in the worst light."
I asked him, "Then how should I see it?"
He was at a loss for words.
I finished his sentence for him. "Elsie was only staying here for a few days.
"She had a weak stomach.
"She couldn't deal with the smell of medicine.
"She needed the kitchen.
"She needed my room."
I looked at him. "And what about me? I only just got out of emergency care myself."
Benjamin's face went pale.
For a split second, I saw real panic in his eyes.
But in the next moment, that panic was replaced by anger.
"Enough. Stop bringing up death all the time," he snapped.
I said softly, "But I'm really tired."
Benjamin fixed his gaze on me.
After a long while, he finally said, "You're just sick."
I didn't say anything else.
He thought sickness could be cured.
But all I wanted was a bed where I could finally rest.
*****
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I slipped into the dessert cold‑storage room in the back kitchen.
It was the place Benjamin treasured most.
Inside, the desserts for tomorrow's private party were lined up, each tagged, under the harsh white lights.
On the innermost shelf sat a strawberry mousse.
When I was little, strawberry was my favorite flavor.
Back then, I hadn't learned how to pretend or get people to like me. All I could do was break down and cry whenever the System gave me a new choice.
Benjamin would hide me in the cold‑storage room and cut me a tiny piece of strawberry cake. "Just one bite," he'd say.
But after I finished, he'd push the whole slice toward me. "Forget it. Since you're crying so much, we'll talk about the rules tomorrow."
I picked up a piece of strawberry mousse and sat down on the cold floor of the cold‑storage room.
The thermometer read 0 °F.
The chill sank into my bones, and my lashes frosted over in no time.
The System said, "Host, hypothermia is going to hurt a lot."
I scooped a spoonful of mousse into my mouth.
The strawberry jam was so sweet that it made my throat sting.
"It's fine," I said.
"If you pull through this time, you can finally go back."
"Yeah."
I closed my eyes and thought of Benedict.
When the pain from chemo kept me awake at night, he'd hold my hand again and again. "Eve, it's alright. I'm here."
He promised that when I woke up, he'd buy me a strawberry cake. The biggest slice out there.
He'd let me eat as much as I wanted. No rules, no limits.
I wrapped my arms around myself, leaning against the icy wall of the cold‑storage room.
The chill crept through me, inch by inch.
After a long while, I didn't feel cold anymore.
My hands and feet were numb, but my chest felt like it was wrapped in a layer of warm water.
I softly hummed the song Benedict used to sing to me when I couldn't sleep.
The tune was old, and I only remembered the first few lines.
"Ben," I whispered. "I ate all the cake, just like you wanted. Can you hug me, please?"
The whole room smelled like strawberries.
It felt so good.
Just as I was slipping away, a sudden crash echoed from outside.
Someone was pounding on the door. "Evelyn!"