Page 112 of Serpent King's Prisoner

“Thanks,” Abby replied with a smile, maintaining her composure while my heart thrummed with a mixture of pride and fear. She was playing her part flawlessly, every word and gesture calculated to put my family at ease.

“Let’s eat,” I said quickly, eager to move past this moment of scrutiny. “Knowing her, Ma’s been cooking all day.”

We moved toward the kitchen, and the scent of simmering spices greeted us, mingling with the warm undertones of soy and ginger. “Ma,” I called out as we stepped through the doorway.

My mother turned from where she stood by the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand. Her black hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at Abby.

“Ah, Nathan, you brought company,” she said in English, her tone light, betraying nothing of the life we led beyond these walls.

“Abby, this is my mother, Evelyn Zhou.” I gestured between them, watching Abby extend her hand with the same grace she’d shown my siblings.

“Mrs. Zhou, it’s an honor to meet you,” Abby said, slipping effortlessly into the role we’d rehearsed.

“I’m so happy to meet you,” Ma smiled, taking Abby’s hand in both of hers. “And the honor is mine. Nathan has never brought a girl home before. We’re thrilled.”

The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. The smile on my mother’s face was warm, but her eyes—sharp and knowing—suggested she was aware there was more to Abby than met the eye.

I could only hope she’d keep her observations to herself for now.

Abby smiled. “Your home is lovely.”

“Wait until you try the food,” I chimed in, trying to maintain a lightness I didn’t feel. “No one cooks like Ma.”

“Justin has asked for beef noodle soup,” Ma revealed, the clatter of pots and pans punctuating her words. “I’m just about to serve it, though I’m not sure if your father will join us until later.” She glanced at the clock, a frown momentarily clouding her features.

“Can I help with anything?” Abby’s offer was tentative but sincere, her green eyes reflecting a desire to belong—or at least appear to.

“Of course, dear,” Ma responded, her voice gentle. “You can help me set the bowls out. And Justin—please bring the broth to the table.”

A simple task, but the way Abby stepped forward, eager to assist, made something in my chest loosen—a mix of relief and an emotion I wasn’t ready to name. It was ridiculous how such a small gesture could stir warmth in me, especially given the tension that had coiled tight in my stomach since we’d left my place.

“Thank you,” Abby said, accepting a stack of deep porcelain bowls from Ma. Her movements were careful, respectful of the kitchen’s order.

“Be careful with those,” I warned, though it was unnecessary. I knew she could handle far more than delicate china—she’d proven as much already. But watching her here, in this ordinary scene, I couldn’t help but feel a tug of normalcy amidst the chaos of our lives.

“Always am,” she replied with a wink, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile.

Ma led the way, and Abby followed, their heads close together as they spoke softly. The sight of them together, united by the simple act of preparing dinner, stirred a sense of yearning within me. For a moment, I allowed myself to indulge in the fantasy that this could be real—that Abby could truly be part of this world without the dangerous truths that lay beneath the surface.

I grabbed the steaming pot of broth, feeling the heat seep through the kitchen towel wrapped around the handle. The familiar smell filled my senses, and for a second, I forgot about the danger lurking just beneath our feet. Ma always knew how to make a house feel like a home.

“Let me help with that,” Justin offered, pushing himself up from the couch with a groan. I shot him a look that said he should be resting, but he shrugged it off with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. We all knew he was putting on a brave face.

“Take the rice instead, man,” I suggested, nodding toward a less cumbersome dish. He complied, and together we made our way to the dining room where Lily had already set out the chopsticks and spoons.

The table looked inviting, the bowls lined up neatly, waiting to be filled. Abby was placing the last of the dishes when I caught her eye and gave her a reassuring nod. She returned it with a slight smile, her green eyes catching the light in a way that made them appear like calm seas—a stark contrast to the storm I felt inside, anxiety nagging at me. Until my father arrived, I didn’t know if she was safe—and I’d come with a gun on my hip just in case.

“Abby, you can take Alex’s seat,” I said, gesturing towards an empty chair as Ma took her place at the head of the table. I couldn’t help but glance toward the door Alex would usually breeze through, the absence of his presence heavy in the air. “He won’t be joining us.”

“Did something happen to him?” Lily asked, my mother’s face going pale.

“We need to wait until Ba gets here,” I murmured. “Then we’ll talk.”

As if on cue, the air grew thick with something unspoken, a weighted silence that settled around us like a shroud. Our heads turned almost in unison toward the hallway as the sound of measured footsteps signaled his approach.

“Abby,” I whispered, my hand finding hers across the table and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay cool.” Her fingers tightened around mine, the only sign of her unease.

He appeared then, my father, Kenny Zhou, the outline of his figure casting a long shadow before him as he walked down the hall from his office. His hair was touched with grey, his face an unreadable mask as always. This man could command a room with a look, and here at home, it was no different.

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