Yes (part2)

Charlotte sighed deeply, leaning against Leonid's chest, her warm breath brushing against his shirt, which clung tightly to his muscles. Her dark eyes sank into an even deeper abyss as she surrendered to her tangled thoughts.

But she had grown tired of the silence.

"Charlotte."

Leonid's voice came as a warm whisper as he lifted his upper body, propping himself up on his elbows. Charlotte hadn't noticed until she felt her body being pulled with him. She lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting his steady gaze.

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

Her brows furrowed in confusion as her fingers unconsciously clutched at his shirt.

She felt her heart pounding violently, and she had no doubt that Leonid could hear it. Still, she chose to lie.

"Yes."

Her voice was soft, trying to wrap itself in false steadiness, but she couldn't allow herself to reveal her emotions now.

Leonid tilted his head slightly until his forehead touched hers, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"You're lying."

Before she could respond, he lifted her gently in his arms and placed her on the bed.

"There you go, on the bed and not on top of me."

Leonid continued his whisper in a soft tone, then lay beside her legs, resting his head on the pillow.

"So, are you okay now?"

He looked at her with his patient, calm eyes, raising a hand to gently caress her cheek.

Charlotte blinked slowly, hesitating between looking at the mattress beneath her and his watchful eyes. She closed her eyes for a moment under the effect of his touch not out of discomfort, but as an attempt to suppress her emotions by force.

"Actually, I was fine the whole time."

She answered quietly, gazing into his eyes with both depth and gentleness, then leaned down to rest her head on his chest.

"I can stay like this without feeling uncomfortable at all."

Leonid felt the weight of her words settle on his chest. He held her close, but his smile gradually faded. He knew she was lying but why?

Just the thought of it reminded him of a disgusting face.

The face of that man from the elevator incident.

Leonid closed his eyes, his thumb brushing gently against Charlotte's soft cheek as she slowly drifted into sleep.

That man said he was busy, but in reality, he had been following them like a fool, deluding himself into thinking he was unnoticed.

Why was he following Charlotte specifically?

Leonid pondered, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. He was so frustrated that he was willing to crush someone until they disappeared.

Wait a minute!

His eyes widened, and he stopped rubbing his forehead.

Could this be the killer he was looking for? But when he had checked the tenant records of this building, especially for the eighth floor, there had been no record of this man.

"Who is he?"

Leonid muttered under his breath, then carefully lifted Charlotte and placed her on the pillow. This time, fortunately, his shirt didn't get stained with her drool as it had in the past…

When she was sick, and when she had slept beside him last night.

He tucked her under the blanket and then left the room to make an important call.

Standing by the door, he pulled out his phone before heading to the living room. He hesitated for a moment, then pressed the call button. He never thought he would ever call this person.

At headquarters, Alia's phone began ringing on her desk. She paused her work, picking up her coffee cup with one hand while grabbing the phone with the other. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the caller ID flashing on the screen.

"Leonid."

She whispered, hesitating for a moment before answering and placing the phone against her ear.

"What do you want?"

Her voice was serious, cold, and reserved. She was still angry at him after their recent argument.

Maybe she was jealous of his seemingly perfect relationship with Charlotte Smith.

"Alia, I have a request."

Leonid's cold voice came through the speaker.

Alia shook her head and forced herself to reply.

"What is it?"

"I want you to check the tenant records for the eighth floor. I'm looking for someone."

"Tenant records? There are fifty people on one floor. How do you expect me to find them?"

"I have precise details."

"Alright, what are they?"

"Dark green eyes. Black hair."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

Alia sighed in frustration but didn't argue.

"Fine, I'll send you the information when I'm done."

"Good."

"By the way, where are y—"

Beep… Beep…

Her eyes widened as she stared at the phone that had just been hung up on her. For a moment, she remained silent, but inside, she was burning with anger.

She set the phone aside, her grip tightening around it for a moment.

Leonid always acted on his own whims, never caring about those around him.

If she hadn't witnessed this man's skills herself, she would never have acknowledged him.

"His arrogance is limitless."

Alia muttered before getting up to search for the eighth floor tenant records.

From her perspective, Leonid hadn't changed at all. So how could someone like him be dating anyone? Especially that woman.

Charlotte Smith.

For whatever reason, she truly hated her.

On the other side, Leonid tossed his phone onto the couch along with his jacket, rolling up his sleeves as he stood up. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

"1:30."

He whispered, a faint smile forming on his lips.

He was confident in his ability to prepare a satisfying snack. After all, he had to repay Charlotte's kindness tenfold.

With light steps, he sneaked back into the bedroom, took a quick look at the sleeping Charlotte, then stole one of her hair clips from the small table beside the bed. He walked out while pushing his bangs up, smiling smugly.

"Cooking… is my way of life~"

He declared aloud in a cocky tone as he opened the fridge in search of the right ingredients.

Since he was young, Leonid had only entered the kitchen to drink water or wash the dishes he occasionally used when bringing takeout. He wasn't interested in cooking, but he clearly remembered how skillfully his mother cooked, even though she had never received any professional training in it.

Everything, to him, was a gift, a pure talent and that made him firmly believe that he had inherited that skill by nature.

Even though he had never tried cooking himself.

Leonid placed all the ingredients on the table next to the stove and stared at them for a moment in heavy silence. He had been confident just minutes ago, even arrogant, but now he began to feel a sense of hesitation. Perhaps he was facing unusual doubts.

He crossed his arms over his chest, then raised his hand to gently rub his smooth chin, as if trying to find an answer in this simple gesture.

His icy blue eyes slowly moved over the ingredients on the table, each one a challenge to him, a test of his flawless skills. Then suddenly, he turned on the gas and placed the pan on the heat while smiling a smile filled with arrogance.

"A gift means pure talent."

It was as if the words he spoke were a tether binding him to the greatness he saw in himself. In his view, talent never errs.

Once, his colleagues at work asked him, at some point, if he was the embodiment of perfection. At that moment, Leonid did not respond to their question and completely ignored it. Why? Because simply, he didn't have that much arrogance to answer yes.

He was closer to being a humble person, or at least that's what he believed about himself.

He chopped the vegetables with elegant brutality, his movements precise and fast, showing his clear determination, then placed them in the pan. He gently drizzled the oil, then added water, deciding in his mind that he would cook the soup, or what was called vegetable soup. A light meal for a light time, a choice he always considered wise.

He smiled a beautiful smile, as if everything was in its right place, while adding a professional sprinkle of salt to the soup. He closed the lid gently, then went to the sofa to sit, setting five minutes in his head before turning off the stove.

As he rested on the sofa, those five minutes, or perhaps the extra fifteen minutes for him, felt like moments of peace, a short break away from the fire of the stove.

Leonid continued his break as the food in the pan began to stick to its surface little by little, slowly burning. He didn't notice anything until his nose was hit with an unexpected smell.

He sat up quickly, finally remembering the stove, and rushed to turn off the heat.

"Oh my God..."

Leonid muttered, feeling a shiver run through him. His meal was burnt, but not entirely.

"What's going on here…? Leonid, what are you doing?"

From behind the bedroom door, Charlotte emerged, rubbing her eyes as she stepped into the living room.

"Well... let's see..."

Leonid raised his hand and nervously ruffled his hair, feeling the weight of shame wash over him. He couldn't hide the overwhelming sense of failure, a massive failure, which was evident in every detail of his body.

He stood still for a moment, staring at the burnt food, his eyes filled with disappointment. That moment was like an acknowledgment to himself that things hadn't gone as planned.