Page 71 of Sexted By a Stranger
"Good morning, Joseph. The roses are beautiful."
"Thank you for the compliment," he said, while naturally turning his body sideways, his gaze precisely and quickly sweeping the hedge path behind me, the movement so smooth it looked like he was just adjusting his stance.
I continued strolling forward. At the far end of the garden, Maria approached with her cleaning cart, her ponytail neat, her smile bright.
"Miss Stella." She stopped. "Good morning."
"Good morning," I replied.
As we passed each other, the corner of her eye quickly and silently swept the empty path behind me. Her steps remained light as she disappeared around the corner with her cart, as if that glance had never happened.
Back in my apartment, I stood by the window looking at everything before me. I had to admit one fact—Luca's protection was indeed as airtight as he'd promised.
This invisible fortress blocked out the world filled with smoke and blood, turning this place into a carefully crafted safety bubble. Inside this bubble, I could pursue my dream with complete focus.
This realization left me with complex feelings. Being so thoroughly protected didn't bring the expected sense of confinement. Instead, it strangely generated a warm current of security. I knew this was the wall he'd built.
What truly surprised me, even left me somewhat at a loss, was that our fierce argument seemed to have never happened—at least, there was no trace of it in Luca's behavior patterns.
He didn't burst into my space to argue or debate, but continued that silent care.
Every morning, no matter how early I arrived at the company, walking into my office, there was always food I loved on my desk.
In the office, the climate control system always maintained the most comfortable temperature. The latest issues of Vogue Jewelry and Jewelry Design Annual would quietly appear on the magazine rack beside my work station.
At night, when I dragged myself home exhausted and frustrated by design blocks, there would be my favorite aromatherapy hanging on the door and my beloved cherry-pink silk nightgown.
Once, in a heavy jewelry catalog, I found a plain white note tucked between the pages. It had only one line in strong, powerful handwriting: "Take care of yourself."
No signature, but I recognized the handwriting. My heart felt like something had gently bumped into it, sour and bittersweet.
Mom and Leon came back.
Leon didn't think there was anything wrong with me moving out of the manor—he'd always adapted well to new environments.
He rushed toward me excitedly as soon as he walked in.
"Sheila. I have a really good chance of winning this competition." He opened his tablet like he was showing off treasure, pulling up a video. "Luca even helped me get in touch with Elliot Shawn. My God! He looked at some of my paintings and agreed to mentor me online once a month."
"That's wonderful."
But then Mom sent Leon downstairs to play. She gently took my hand and led me to sit on the sofa by the window.
"Sheila," she called softly, her gaze tenderly focused on me, "you look troubled. Did you have a fight with Luca?"
I instinctively wanted to deny it, but my lips moved without making a sound. Finally, I just silently lowered my eyes,unconsciously twisting the hem of my shirt. In front of Mom, all pretenses seemed so powerless.
She sighed softly, her warm palm covering the back of my hand. "I don't know what happened, but the way Luca looks at you can't be faked. That's not false affection—it's genuine care and concern."
I looked up, somewhat startled.
Mom's gaze swept over the books on my desk. "Leon's illness, my job, everything you have now—these aren't things that can be casually handled with money. He put his heart into it."
Each of Mother's words was like a small hammer, gently tapping at the cracks in my heart's walls.
"Finding someone who truly cares for you isn't easy. Moreover, I can see you have feelings for him too. Don't let momentary stubbornness cloud your heart."
Looking at Mom's gentle eyes, feeling the peace and comfort throughout this estate that Luca had single-handedly created, the ice in my heart made tiny cracking sounds.
