Chapter Seven

It was lunchtime. Peter sat at his sleek glass desk, fingers tapping rhythmically against the surface, his eyes fixed on the door. He didn't dare go to her, not after everything, for he knew she wouldn't want a conversation with him, at least not now. His brow furrowed as he called Magnus into the room.

'Get her something for lunch,' Peter's voice was steady, but the tension in his clenched jaw betrayed the concern swirling beneath the surface. 'But don't let her know it's from me.'

Magnus nodded, catching the flicker of unease in Peter's eyes, and headed out.

Meanwhile, at her desk, Stella's stomach twisted in protest, a sharp rumble breaking the quiet. She sighed, pressing a hand to her abdomen, but the thought of stepping out only fuelled the storm inside her. The cafeteria? No, she couldn't face it right now. The chatter, the curious eyes, pretending everything was normal—it all felt suffocating.

Her heart weighed like a stone in her chest, her thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of questions and hurt. How could Peter hide something like this? The betrayal gnawed at her. She swiped her thumb absently over her phone, trying to focus on TikTok, hoping for a distraction. She watched as cheerful dancers twirled across her screen, laughing and carefree. But their joy was a distant echo she couldn't grasp. Every few moments, her thoughts circled back to him. Peter. The man she trusted—he'd been living a life she never knew. Her chest tightened.

Her stomach growled again, louder this time, almost insistent. She frowned, realising she hadn't eaten since the hurried handful of fruit earlier. But even the idea of food felt wrong. She couldn't imagine sitting in that bright, noisy room pretending to enjoy a meal while her insides twisted with anger. Skipping lunch wasn't ideal, but forcing herself to eat felt unbearable. She considered reaching for the banana in her bag, but the urge wasn't there. Instead, she thought of getting some water from the dispenser, maybe a sip to soothe the dryness in her throat. But even that felt too much.

Just then, a shadow moved into her peripheral vision. She looked up to see Magnus standing beside her desk. His gentle smile was brief, almost apologetic, as he placed a neatly wrapped package before her.

'Here's your lunch,' he said softly, his tone carefully neutral.

Stella blinked, surprise flickering in her eyes. 'I didn't order anything.'

Magnus nodded, his expression kind yet unreadable. 'I know. But just... take care of yourself, Stella. Let me know if you need anything.'

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving her with the package and her turbulent emotions. The quiet words lingered, offering a small bit of comfort in the chaos of her mind.

She stared at the package, her mind spinning. Who would have sent this? The logical part of her knew immediately, though her heart didn't want to acknowledge it. Peter. Of course, it was him. He knew her too well. He would've guessed she was too upset to go to the cafeteria, would've known she'd try to ignore her hunger rather than face anyone.

Her fingers hovered over the wrapping. A part of her wanted to push the package away, a bitter taste of pride rising in her throat. How could she accept anything from him right now, after what he'd done? But the other part of her—the one still reeling, still aching—felt a reluctant warmth. This was Peter's way. He always knew when she needed something, even when she didn't want to admit it.

Slowly, she peeled back the foil-lined paper. The aroma hit her first—a mix of rich grilled chicken, crisp salad packed in a neat plastic container, and the familiar, sweet scent of strawberry cake wrapped carefully in a small box. Her throat tightened. He remembered. He always remembered the little details, the things that made her smile.

She took a small bite, the flavours comforting, even as her emotions churned beneath the surface. The food was delicious, but it couldn't untangle the knot of hurt inside her. Still, for a moment, she allowed herself to be present in this quiet, in the simplicity of eating.

The soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint whir of her computer fan filled the silence around her. But even those familiar sounds felt distant, like background noise to her swirling thoughts. She wasn't sure what her next move would be, what she'd say, how she'd confront him, but for now, she let herself have this—a brief moment of peace, of quiet, of stillness amidst the storm in her mind.