5

The storm outside continued to rage relentlessly, the fierce wind carrying raindrops that pounded against the windows with a sharp, crackling sound, like a group of furious drummers beating their drums in a frenzy, venting endless frustration.

Flashes of lightning intermittently tore through the night sky, casting a ghastly white glow over everything in the dining room, only for the darkness to swiftly swallow it again, leaving behind a unsettling dimness that made hearts race.

The atmosphere at the dinner table grew increasingly heavy and oppressive. Paul mechanically shoveled food into his mouth, tasting nothing, not daring to show any sign of discomfort, only hoping this unbearable meal would end soon. However, the women seemed far from ready to let him off the hook.

Ava set down her utensils, dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin, tilted her head, and looked at Paul with a playful, almost mocking smile. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she spoke:

"Krook, this meal's been awfully dull today. Why don't you tell us about some of those interesting things from the company to liven things up a bit?"

Paul's heart skipped a beat, his hand trembling slightly, nearly dropping his utensils again. Forcing a weak smile, he cleared his throat and said:

"The company? Oh, just the usual stuff, nothing particularly exciting."

Ava wasn't about to let it go so easily. She raised an eyebrow and pressed further: "Oh, come on, really? You used to come back with a basketful of funny stories to share—jokes from business partners, or those quirky new investment projects. What's wrong today? Cat got your tongue?"

Paul felt sweat soaking through his back. He racked his brain desperately for a story that might fit Krook's style, stammering as he replied:

"Oh, uh… just the other day, a business partner came to discuss a project and brought the wrong proposal. Made a little blunder, that's all."

Beatrice, listening nearby, frowned slightly. She looked at Paul, her eyes filled with doubt, and said softly:

"Darling, that doesn't sound right. Didn't you once say that partner was meticulous, always perfectly prepared? How could they make such a basic mistake?"

Paul cursed inwardly—how could he have forgotten that detail? Panic surged as he scrambled to cover his tracks: "Uh, well… maybe they've been too busy lately, things got a bit chaotic on their end. It's normal to slip up once in a while, right?"

Tracy, who had been quietly listening, now set down her utensils as well. She crossed her arms on the table, fixing Paul with a steady gaze. Her tone was calm but carried an undeniable edge of scrutiny:

"Krook, I seem to recall that the project lead from that partner is an old acquaintance of yours. Based on how you've always described him, he wouldn't be that careless, even under pressure. And this incident—why didn't you mention it before?"

Paul's face drained of color. He felt like he was being roasted over a fire—the more he explained, the more holes appeared in his story. Forcing himself to press on, he said:

"Oh, come on, it didn't seem like a big deal at the time, so I didn't bother mentioning it. Don't take it so seriously."

Ava, unrelenting, leaned closer, her eyes locked on Paul's as she grinned: "Krook, you're not hiding something from us, are you? Or… could it be you're not even the Krook we know?"

Paul's heart jolted at her words. His hand instinctively tightened around the tablecloth as he forced a calm rebuttal: "What are you even saying? If I'm not Krook, then who am I? I'm just tired today, my head's not on straight—stop overthinking it."

Beatrice watched Paul's flustered demeanor, her suspicions deepening. She gently took his hand, her voice soft and caring:

"Darling, we don't mean anything by it. You're just so off today. If something's bothering you, or if you're not feeling well, you have to tell us."

Feeling the warmth of Beatrice's hand, Paul only sensed a prickling unease. He let out a dry laugh and said: "It's really nothing, don't worry about it. I'll be fine in a couple of days."

But the women's doubts had already taken root. They exchanged knowing glances, their eyes seeming to say: "This Krook is definitely hiding something."

Under their suspicious stares, Paul felt more and more like he was teetering on the edge of a dark abyss—one wrong step, and he'd plunge into the void, his true identity exposed.

Yet he could only keep up the act, praying this storm of doubt would pass quickly. Deep down, though, he knew he was deluding himself—a bigger crisis was likely looming ahead.

The dinner finally ended in that suffocating atmosphere, and Paul rose from the table as if granted a reprieve, though his legs felt as heavy as lead.

He could still feel the women's wary gazes piercing his back like thorns. Each step he took seemed to carry a thousand pounds of weight.

Outside, the storm raged on, the howling wind tearing through the trees around the villa, producing eerie, wailing sounds. Branches whipped wildly, occasionally striking the windows as if something desperate were trying to break in and uncover the truth.

The lights inside the villa flickered erratically, adding an extra layer of unease to the already ominous mood.

Paul trudged toward the bedroom, Beatrice close behind. Her steps were light, but her eyes remained fixed on him, a mix of concern and suspicion swirling within them.

Today, she had her hair swept up into a neat bun, a few stray strands falling against her pale neck, accentuating her elegance and allure. Yet beneath that gentle exterior, her thoughts churned like the storm outside.

Entering the bedroom, Paul headed straight for the bed, trying to make his movements seem natural, but his trembling hands betrayed his inner turmoil.

Beatrice softly closed the door behind them. The sound echoed sharply in the quiet space, as if locking Paul into the center of this web of doubt.

"Darling, you've been so strange today. What's really going on? Can't you just tell me the truth?"

Beatrice approached him, her voice gentle yet insistent. Her wide, watery eyes brimmed with worry, but there was a determination to see through him.

Paul avoided her gaze, feigning exhaustion as he sat on the bed and rubbed his temples:

"Baby, I'm just tired. Work's been a mess lately—don't overthink it, okay?"

But Beatrice wasn't ready to let it go. She sat beside him, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder, tilting her head as she pressed on:

"Even if you're tired, it wouldn't change your habits this much. The little slip-ups at dinner, I could overlook—but just now in the living room, it felt like you weren't even familiar with things you should know. Are you hiding something from me?"

Paul's heart clenched. It was as if an invisible hand had seized his chest, his breathing growing shallow.

Forcing himself to stay calm, he managed a weak smile: "Hiding something? Of course not. Maybe the stress has just muddled my head. Don't read too much into it—I'll be fine after some rest."

Beatrice frowned, her gaze sharpening with scrutiny. After a moment of silence, she suddenly asked: "Do you remember the promise you made me on the beach the last time we went on vacation together?"

Paul froze. What promise? His mind went blank, sweat beading on his forehead. Stammering, he replied:

"Uh… that… there were so many things we said back then, I can't quite recall off the top of my head. Why bring that up now?"

Beatrice's eyes dimmed with disappointment. She slowly pulled her hand back, stood up, and said in a voice tinged with hurt:

"Krook, you never forgot a single promise you made me—not even the silly ones. You remembered them all perfectly. But now you say you can't recall? You're really letting me down."

Paul panicked. He leapt to his feet, reaching for her hand, but she stepped away. Desperate, he explained:

"Baby, I didn't mean it! There's just been so much going on lately—maybe I forgot that one. Don't be mad, please. I won't forget again."

Beatrice turned her back to him, her voice cold: "No need to explain. I get it. All day, you've felt like a stranger. I don't know what's made you this way, but I just want the Krook I know back. If you can't…"

Her voice broke, trailing off unfinished.

Paul stood rooted to the spot, at a loss. He knew his performance tonight had pushed Beatrice's suspicions to the brink, but he had no idea how to patch up the cracks.

Seeing her lonely, wounded silhouette, guilt and fear twisted inside him—guilt for deceiving this woman who loved Krook so deeply, and fear that if she decided he was a fraud, everything he'd worked for would collapse.

At that moment, in the bedroom, Beatrice slipped into a dress she considered irresistibly sexy.

Paul could no longer hold back, casting aside his tension and fear.

…