Chapter 4

A pregnant woman's stomach was like a bottomless pit, especially if she was carrying triplets. Every couple of hours, she had to find something to eat just to keep up.

I opened my eyes, and the room was pitch black. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a faint glow.

By the window, Rayden was still on the ritual cushion, sitting cross-legged in meditation, not moving an inch.

Could he really have stayed like that all night?

I carefully got up, holding my back as I made my way downstairs.

The kitchen in the Preston family's place shouldn't be too hard to find. If I really couldn't find it, I would just order some delivery.

Just as I reached the staircase, a voice came from behind me.

"Where are you headed?" Rayden asked.

I turned around. Rayden had opened his eyes at some point and was watching me.

"I'm hungry. Looking for something to eat," I replied.

He paused for a couple of seconds, then got up.

"Just wait," Rayden said.

He brushed past me and went downstairs.

I just stood there, surprised.

Seriously? He actually knows how to cook?

Ten minutes later, I found myself staring at a bowl of plain pasta, wondering what my life had come to.

Just some basic pasta in a clear broth, with a couple of sad-looking greens floating on top—not even an egg in sight.

"This is it?" I asked.

Rayden stood beside me, face unreadable. "That's all we've got."

I picked up my fork, twirled a strand of pasta, and popped it into my mouth.

This actually tasted pretty good.

The pasta were just the right texture, and the broth, though it looked plain, had a subtle, almost unexplainable freshness to it.

I took another sip of the broth, and the warmth slid down my throat into my stomach, so soothing I nearly sighed in relief.

"You made this?" I asked.

Rayden just stayed quiet, which pretty much meant 'yeah, that was him.'

I took another bite, then suddenly remembered. "Hold up, aren't you a ascetic? Will cooking for a woman in the dead of night break your vows or something?"

Rayden kept his eyes lowered, his voice steady. "The pasta are vegetarian."

"And what about a guy and a girl alone together at this hour?" I teased.

His lashes quivered, but he stayed silent.

I grinned and kept slurping my pasta.

Halfway through my meal, a question suddenly hit me. I looked up at him. "Hey, what did you mean by what you said in the family shrine earlier?"

Rayden looked up at me.

"You said that night, I was the one who..." I paused, then continued, "And you said I'd been waiting for you for twenty years. What's that about? Did we know each other before?"

Moonlight poured in through the window, illuminating the sharp lines of his face. He was so quiet for so long that I started to think he'd never answer.

Then, finally, he spoke—his voice so soft I almost didn't catch it. "You really don't remember?"

My heart skipped a beat.

Wait, what was I supposed to remember?

I stared at his face, desperately searching my memory. Twenty years ago... I was only four or five. Could we have even met back then?

Wait... Twenty years ago?

Out of nowhere, a blurry memory bubbled up—a little ascetic in a gray shirt, standing at the entrance of the monastery, holding a wild rose out to me while I was bawling my eyes out.

"Don't cry. Here, take this flower," he said gently.

That was the day my mom died. My relatives had brought me to the monastery for the memorial service, and I was hiding in a corner, sobbing. That little ascetic walked over and shoved the flower into my hands.

It was a wild rose. Its stem was still covered in thorns.

His hand was scratched and bleeding, but he didn't make a sound. He just smiled at me.

After that, I never saw him again.

I suddenly looked up at Rayden, realization hitting me.

Standing quietly in the moonlight, he still carried a faint resemblance to that little ascetic from years ago.

"It was you..." I murmured, barely audible. "You were that little ascetic all those years ago?"

He didn't reply, but just for a moment, something flashed in those calm, clear eyes of his.

The vibe between us suddenly got weird.

I wanted to say something, but the words caught in my throat and I swallowed them back down.

The ascetic who used to bring me flowers back then felt like a completely different person from the austere, distant man standing before me now.

With every bite of those pasta, my thoughts were all over the place.

After finishing the last bite, I set down my fork, just as I was about to speak, a sudden cramp twisted through my stomach.

I drew in a sharp breath, wincing.

Instinctively, I clutched my belly.

Rayden's expression changed instantly. He crossed the room in two quick steps and grabbed my shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, really..." I gritted my teeth, my forehead broke out in a cold sweat. "Probably just ate too fast, the babies are kicking again..."

He looked down at my belly, his brows drawn together in worry.

And then, out of nowhere, he did something I never expected.

He squatted down and gently placed his hand on my stomach, his voice deep and gentle. "Settle down."

And just like that, the three babies inside me actually quieted down.

I froze.

He froze too.

We just locked eyes, his hand still on my belly.