Pampering the Orphaned Soul
Eva followed her into the grand dining room, and nearly gasped.
The long dining table was draped in pure white linen and adorned with golden cutlery and polished crystal glasses. But what truly stole her breath was the food.
So. Much. Food.
She stared, speechless, at the spread before her,
Butter-poached lobster glistening beside lemon-garlic butter sauce.
Truffle scrambled eggs resting atop brioche toast.
Caviar-stuffed blinis with crème fraîche
Smoked salmon roses layered with edible flowers.
Wagyu beef sliders served with caramelized onions and gourmet aioli
Mini croissants filled with pistachio cream and dark chocolate
A tall pitcher of freshly squeezed orange-pomegranate juice
And in the center, a gleaming silver platter of gold-leafed pancakes stacked like a throne
Eva's stomach growled rebelliously.
There was even lobster? My favorite lobster? Her mouth watered, and for a moment, she forgot why she was even upset.
Before she could protest, Gina gently guided her into a chair. "Please, Ma'am. Eat."
Still dazed, Eva picked up her fork, choosing the butter-poached lobster first. She sliced a piece, placed it into her mouth, and nearly cried.
The texture was soft, the flavor divine. Rich, buttery, with a kiss of lemon and warmth. It was the kind of food that made you forget your name and whisper prayers of gratitude.
She closed her eyes for a second.
This... was too much.
Too surreal.
Too beautiful.
And for a woman used to running, hiding, and surviving, this moment of softness felt almost like a sin.
She had never tasted anything this good, not since her father died.
Not once, in all those years of scraping by, had Eva experienced this level of comfort.
And now, here she was, being offered golden pancakes, truffle eggs, and fresh-squeezed juice as if she belonged to this world of crystal and royalty.
As the maids gently encouraged her to try more dishes, smiling warmly, offering napkins and naming every ingredient with pride, Eva's throat tightened. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the smoked salmon. The tears threatened to fall but she blinked them back.
She couldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
But inside, a part of her was breaking, or healing.
Maybe both.
Because no one had pampered her like this.
Not since she was a child. Most times they had to eat takeout meals or wait until their dad is back from work so he could prepare something for them to eat.
Her mom has always been delicate from day one, due to her health she couldn't do much.
After her father's death, everything changed. She had to step up, be the strong one, because her mother had fallen sick not long after. The weight of responsibility had rested entirely on her slender shoulders.
It was always just her and Bob.
They became their own family, their own system. And in that system, there was no space for luxury, no room for delicacies. Dinner meant whatever they could afford: packets of noodles, cold snacks, takeout when they were lucky. Most nights, she worked late, and came home to find Bob had made something, barely edible, but food all the same. Sometimes tasteless. Sometimes burnt. Sometimes, nothing at all. Actually Bob is a bad cook, while Eva on the other hand is an excellent cook but how can she even think of cooking with everything she was going through.
She couldn't remember the last time she actually sat down to enjoy a real, hot home meal made with love and care.
But now, with Gina watching her like a proud hostess, and the maids standing at attention like she was royalty, Eva felt, seen. Cared for. And yet, oddly overwhelmed.
She held back the tears and focused on the food, eating slowly, savoring each bite.
It was too delicious. Too rich. At one point, the lobster was so tender she nearly bit her tongue.
When Gina was satisfied that Eva was fed "to her soul," she clapped her hands softly, and two maids appeared at her sides.
"Now, ma'am Eva," Gina said with a glowing smile, "if you'd follow me. It's time to help you relax properly."
Still dazed, Eva let herself be led through another lavish corridor into a private spa-like bathroom, and what awaited her made her gasp.
A royal bath.
The tub was carved from marble, wide and deep, filled with steaming water infused with milk, honey, and crushed rose petals. Soft vapor drifted in the air, carrying hints of jasmine, lavender, and vanilla. Floating candles glimmered on the surface like stars in a private sky. A gentle melody hummed from unseen speakers, and the lighting was golden and warm.
Her robes were peeled away with care, and as she stepped into the bath, Eva felt her body sigh with relief. The water wrapped around her like silk, soothing muscles she hadn't even known were tense.
Next came the pampering.
A gentle milk and honey exfoliation, followed by a rose oil massage that left her skin gleaming. Her hair was washed with chamomile-infused shampoo, then towel-dried and wrapped neatly. Her hands and feet were scrubbed, soaked in lemon-salt, and moisturized with coconut cream and shea butter. Every inch of her was treated like sacred ground.
It felt like hours passed. Blissful, dreamy hours where time didn't exist.
By the end, Eva was floating inside her own body, clean, refreshed, and more at peace than she'd felt in years.
Wrapped in a soft, white bathrobe, her eyelids heavy from the warmth and serenity, she wandered back toward the bedroom, stifling a yawn.
But then she froze.
Her sleepy gaze scanned the room she had woken up in earlier, the same room she had criticized for being plain, and realization dawned like a thunderbolt.
This was Damien's bedroom.
"What? Hell no," she whispered, standing in the doorway. "No way am I sharing a bedroom with him."
She turned to leave, but not before pausing by his wardrobe.
Curiosity tugged at her.
With a guilty glance over her shoulder, she pulled the door open. His closet was pristine, everything neatly arranged by color, style, and fabric. It was almost disturbingly perfect.
Black. Grey. Charcoal.
A lifeless palette, just like the room.
She scoffed quietly. "How can someone so brilliant live in such a bleak color scheme?"
She was about to shut the door when something caught her eye.
A drawer. Partially open.
Inside, two shirts, folded with unusual care and placed apart from the others.
Eva reached in, her breath hitching the moment her fingers brushed the fabric.
The first shirt, was the one Damien had lent her in Mexico, the night she fell sick during his business trip.
The second, was from Singapore, when she had been in disguise as Tyler.
Her throat tightened.
He had kept them. Hidden them. Protected them like memories he couldn't let go of.
Eva slowly pulled one of them over her head, her heart tangled in a storm of emotions. The scent of him lingered in the fabric, clean, masculine, familiar.
She didn't know why she was anywhere close to his things especially something as personal as his closet but she couldn't help it.
Eva became confused again. Why did he separate the clothes? Was he so disgusted that he abandoned them, refusing to let anything worn by someone else touch his own?
The thought made her chest tighten with a sharp ache of indignation. She harrumphed and picked one of the shirts, her favorite. It was the one she had worn in Singapore, back when she was Tyler. She slipped it on defiantly, the soft fabric hugging her skin like a stolen secret.
Then she hummed as she walked out, her feet clad in Damien's oversized slippers. They looked adorably mismatched on her.
"Oh, I hate him," she muttered under her breath. "How could he sell our house, have me kidnapped, and drag me here without even bringing my things? This is what you'll get, Damien, I'll wear and use your things until I anger you to death."
With that, she set off for a hi stroll around the grand villa. Just as she stepped into the hallway, Gina, who noticed Eva's curious eyes wandering, immediately ordered a maid to bring her a tray of snacks.
Eva's eyes widened when the maid appeared, balancing a tray piled high with golden, crunchy pancakes. They looked so delicious she couldn't resist picking one up, munching as she explored, feeling deliciously petty and impossibly cool.
She stepped into the grand living room, and her breath caught.
The walls soared high, clad in creamy marble that glowed under the massive crystal chandelier dripping like frozen starlight from a vaulted ceiling. A pair of indoor fountains flanked the entrance, sending sheets of water cascading into basins of polished stone. Massive oil paintings in ornate frames depicted stormy seascapes and regal ancestors. Sculptures of ancient gods and wild horses reared from gleaming pedestals. Imported rugs as soft as clouds stretched across the gleaming black-and-white checkered floor. Velvet curtains in deep sapphire pooled like rivers by arched windows. Every detail whispered luxury at its peak, it felt like stepping into a castle kissed by heaven itself.
Eva was wowed beyond words, nibbling on one pancake after another as she wandered in awe. The maid trailed behind her, patient and silent, offering the tray each time Eva's hand drifted back for another bite. The grandness of the place overwhelmed her senses, it was too perfect, too extravagant, too good to be true. How could anyone live like this?
Just as she walked past the passage upstairs, a door caught her eye. The door has a strange sticker on it, and she immediately recognized it.
It was a sticker she had won from a maths contest some years back, and she remembered giving it to him, when she went by the name Ana, they were neighbors back then in Chicago, and on that day she had come to his house for her lesson class, when she heard Seraphina wishing Damien a happy birthday after which seraphina presented a big gift to him.
When Ana heard it, she felt it was only nice that she gives him something as well, so she took out her favorite precious sticker and stocked it to his school bag and without keeping eye contact she wished him a happy birthday and then walked away. She could hear murmurs as she was being laughed at and insulted for gifting Damien a stupid cheap sticker but Ana didn't care, she just walked away, she had longed accepted then that nothing she did was ever good enough for them, she would always be the poor social climber and clerk's daughter.
She thought Damian didn't like it as well, especially when she heard her colleagues telling Damien to remove the sticker and throw it away.
She'd thought Damien would have peeled it off and trashed it in disgust, but he hadn't. He'd kept it and now it was stuck to his door, a quiet, impossible testament.
Why? she wondered, her breath catching painfully in her chest. Why had he kept it all these years?