Once, my paranoid love

With a sense of hospitality and a desire to make Elena feel comfortable, I began to serve her food. It was a small but meaningful gesture, a way to convey my consideration for her presence in my home.

As I attended to this simple act of serving a meal, a maid appeared seemingly out of nowhere, her presence unobtrusive but efficient. She addressed me with polite deference, her words respectful and anticipatory. “Sir, may I?”

My gaze bore down on the maid who had appeared, her presence an unwelcome intrusion into the intimate moment I sought to share with Elena. She instinctively took a step back, her awkward smile revealing her discomfort in the face of my unwavering scrutiny. It was clear that I had unintentionally made my desire to serve my wife abundantly evident; I didn’t want anyone, even a well-meaning maid, to disrupt this special moment.

Elena, ever perceptive and sensitive to the situation, responded swiftly to ease any tension. “Mr. Houston, it’s all right. I’m okay,” she reassured me, her words carrying a soothing tone that conveyed her understanding and willingness to adapt to the circumstances.

However, I couldn’t suppress the nervousness that tinged my voice as I posed the question that had been burning within me.

“Can’t I serve you?” I asked, and my sincerity and genuine desire to care for her evident in every word. I longed to express my affection for Elena in tangible ways, and this simple act of service felt like a genuine opportunity to do so.

Elena, recognizing the depth of my sentiment, quickly clarified her earlier statement.

“I didn’t mean that, Mr. Huston,” she explained, her own intentions conveyed with honesty and warmth. Her response reflected her appreciation for my gesture and the genuine affection that lay behind it, even if it had momentarily caught her by surprise.

As I carefully served Elena, my thoughts swirled with a mix of emotions and uncertainties. The realization of my deepening feelings for her was inescapable, and the question of how to navigate this newfound affection weighed heavily on my mind.

‘Is it too horrible for me to chase a girl? What am I going to do now?’ These thoughts whirled within me, causing a momentary lapse in my composure. The act of serving Elena, while a simple one, took on a profound significance as it underscored my genuine affection for her.

Unbeknownst to us, the maids standing nearby observed our interactions, and one of them couldn’t resist whispering, ‘Sir truly likes our madam.’ Her observation hung in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that was developing between them.

The other maid, seemingly in agreement, responded, “It seems so.” Their whispered conversation added an element of intrigue to the atmosphere, as though our burgeoning affection had become a topic of quiet speculation among the household staff.

However, Elena’s gentle interruption shifted our focus back to the immediate moment. “It’s enough, Mr. Houston; I won’t be able to finish it,” she stated, her words carrying a note of both gratitude and practicality.

“Eat more, Elena; you’re too thin.” I gently encouraged her, my words filled with a genuine concern for her well-being. In truth, I found her delicate frame incredibly captivating, and I relished the opportunity to watch her savor her meal.

But the words that played in my mind were different, ones I dared not speak aloud: “You’re not just thin; you’re incredibly gorgeous; all I want to do is watch you, Elena,” I thought as I offered her a warm smile.

Elena, ever gracious and considerate, responded to my suggestion with kindness. “Your plate is empty, Mr. Huston. Allow me to serve you as well,” she proposed, reaching out to take the spoon from my hand.

The moment her fingers brushed mine, an unexpected sensation coursed through me. Elena’s touch was shockingly cold, sending a shiver down my spine. The sudden chill of her fingertips seemed to ignite a fire within me, a sensation that was both electrifying and bewildering.

My eyes widened in response to this unexpected jolt, my gaze locking onto Elena’s face as if seeking answers to the enigma of my own emotions. Her touch had ignited something within me-a racing heart and a sense of anticipation that felt like it could burst at any moment. Elena’s service was accompanied by a warm smile, and for a moment, I found myself utterly captivated by her beauty. My inner thoughts swirled with the intensity of my attraction to her, causing a momentary lapse in my composure.

“F***!” I muttered inwardly, unable to escape the overwhelming allure she possessed. I closed my eyes briefly, attempting to regain my composure as her radiant presence threatened to consume my every thought.

As we began our breakfast, my gaze remained fixed on her, my eyes taking in every detail. Her bangs, though endearing, partially obscured her captivating eyes. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail, a simple yet charming choice that accentuated her delicate features.

I took a deep breath in an attempt to quell the storm of desire that raged within me, but it was a futile effort. My heart raced, and I found it nearly impossible to concentrate on my food. All I wanted was to reach out and run my fingers through her hair, to feel the softness of her locks against my touch.

In the midst of this inner turmoil, Elena turned her gaze toward me, her expression shifting to one of perplexity as she observed my behavior. Her inquisitive look seemed to question the sudden change in my demeanor, and I couldn’t help but feel exposed under her scrutiny.

The realization that my desires and affections were becoming increasingly difficult to contain weighed heavily on me. I longed to express the depth of my feelings for Elena, to let her know the extent of my attraction and adoration. Yet I remained torn, aware of the complexities of our relationship and the delicate balance we were trying to strike.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

Elena’s POV.

The weight of Mr. Huston’s unwavering gaze as he watched me eat was becoming increasingly difficult to bear. It felt as though every bite I took was under scrutiny, his eyes never leaving my form. I couldn’t help but wonder how I was supposed to enjoy my meal with such intense attention fixed on me.

Determined to address the situation, I locked my gaze on Derek, hoping to convey that I was aware of his scrutiny. In that moment, it seemed as though he had something he wanted to express, a message that lay hidden beneath his longing glances.

To my surprise, Derek’s gaze shifted away from me, as if he had decided against sharing whatever was on his mind. I couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and curiosity. What was he trying to convey? It was clear that he was struggling with his own emotions and desires, just as I was.

I couldn’t deny that Mr. Huston had been treating me with kindness, far from the intimidating persona I had initially perceived him to be. Despite my reservations and lingering attachment to Paul, I found myself questioning whether there was room for acceptance and understanding between us.

But the nagging doubt remained: once Mr. Huston discovered the truth about my past, would he still be willing to accept me for who I was? The fear of rejection gnawed at the edges of my mind, casting a shadow over any budding connection we might share.

In an effort to ease the tension and allow some distance between us, I decided to divert my attention back to my meal. Perhaps, I reasoned, it was better if we kept our interactions to a minimum for the time being. Smiling softly, I buried my thoughts beneath the facade of a peaceful breakfast and focused on the flavors before me. The abruptness of Mr. Huston’s calling my name, “Elena,” caught my attention, and I responded with a questioning tone, “Yes?” I locked my gaze on his, wondering what could be so urgent.

His next question, however, was wholly unexpected, and it left me momentarily stunned. “Would you like to meet your father?” He asked, his words hanging in the air between us.

“Dad!” The mere mention of my father stirred a tumult of emotions within me. It had been two days since I had left that place, and in that time, not a single call or message had come from him. My heart ached with the thought that perhaps he was waiting for me to reach out, or worse, that he had forgotten about me entirely.

I had made the difficult decision to distance myself from Paul and the life I had known, driven by a desire for independence and a fresh start. But the absence of any communication from my father left me feeling adrift, uncertain of where I stood in his world.

As I contemplated his question, I couldn’t help but grapple with conflicting emotions. The prospect of meeting my father was both alluring and fraught with uncertainty. Did I want to reconnect with him to bridge the gap that had grown between us over the years? Or had I left that chapter of my life behind for a reason?

To be continued.