Chapter 70 Want to Eat Your Spaghetti

Chapter 70 Want to Eat Your Spaghetti

The streetlights cast a dim glow over the night. Henry leaned against a lamppost, pulled out his phone, and opened his chat with Amelia. His fingers kept refreshing the WhatsApp screen, but the latest message still showed the one he sent half an hour ago: [Have you arrived at home?]

The night breeze lifted his collar slightly, intensifying his irritation.

He didn't wait any longer and called his driver, his tone tinged with impatience. "Take me to Amelia's place right away."

Half an hour later, the black Bentley came to a smooth stop outside Amelia's apartment building.

Henry pushed open the car door and looked up to see the familiar window on the third floor illuminated with a warm yellow light. His heart eased a bit, but a new wave of frustration rose. She was clearly home, yet she hadn't bothered to reply to his message. Was she really ignoring his concern?

He didn't go upstairs immediately. Leaning against the car door, he sent another message, this time with a hint of reproach. [Why didn't you let me know you were home?]

The message was sent successfully, but there was still no response.

Amelia was sitting on the living room sofa, having just finished her shower. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she wore a loose, cream-colored loungewear set.

She held a tablet in her hand, and the entertainment headline that popped up on the screen stunned her.

#Lily Announces Retirement dominated the trending topics, and the accompanying text was straightforward: [Thank you all for your support over the years. I will now focus on my personal life and will no longer be involved in the entertainment industry.]

Amelia frowned, her fingers sliding repeatedly across the screen.

Logically, Lily was supposed to be hospitalized tonight, and Ursa had tearfully begged Henry not to terminate her contract. How could she suddenly announce her retirement? What had they discussed that made Lily, who had always dreamed of being a big star, give up her career entirely?

She couldn't make sense of it, so she decided not to dwell on it. After all, Lily was known for her impulsive behavior. Just recently, she had caused a stir for publicity, and now her sudden retirement, though surprising, was in line with her unpredictable nature. Henry, on the other hand, had handled the situation with a decisiveness that exceeded her expectations, even seeming a bit cold-hearted. Yet, at the Phillips Villa, he had proactively helped her by informing Erik about Uriah, solving her dilemma of how to introduce her relatives.

Considering all this, working with Henry seemed like the most reliable choice for now.

As she was deep in thought, the doorbell rang suddenly, urgent and persistent.

Amelia was startled. She picked up her phone and saw three unread messages from Henry.

She immediately realized that the person at the door could only be him.

She quickly walked to the door, checked through the peephole to confirm it was Henry, and then opened the door.

Henry stood outside, wearing a black coat, his shoulders straight, but his hair was slightly tousled by the night wind. The usual smile on his lips was replaced by a tight line.

"What's up?" Amelia asked before he could speak, stepping aside to let him in and taking his coat to hang on the rack by the door.

Henry didn't answer. He walked straight to the living room, his gaze sweeping over the tablet on the coffee table before landing on her. His tone carried a hint of grievance. "Why didn't you reply to my messages? I've been waiting since I left Lily's place, worried you might be stuck in traffic or distracted while driving. But you got home and didn't even make a sound."

"I thought you were busy handling things and didn't have time to check messages," Amelia said, handing him a glass of warm water, her tone calm, deliberately avoiding the topic of Lily's retirement.

She knew this was Henry's private matter. Since he hadn't brought it up, she saw no need to inquire, avoiding the appearance of prying into his personal affairs.

Henry took the glass and drank most of it before speaking slowly, "I'm thirsty. Get me another bottle."

Amelia raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she looked at him. "You came over in the middle of the night just for a drink of water?"

"And I'm hungry," Henry said, leaning back on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the kitchen, his tone carrying a hint of deliberate pleading. "I want to eat your spaghetti."

"You said my spaghetti wasn't good last time," Amelia recalled his previous criticism of her cooking, unable to resist teasing him.

Last time she made spaghetti, Henry had barely tasted it before grimacing and refusing to eat more, then proceeded to show off his own cooking skills without sparing her feelings.

"Now I think your spaghetti is the best," Henry said, looking at her with genuine seriousness. "The convenience store's instant spaghetti is too salty, and the hotel's spaghetti is too greasy. Only yours is just right."

Seeing the fatigue in his eyes, Amelia didn't refuse. She knew Henry well enough to understand that once he set his mind on something, he wouldn't give up until he got it. Rather than dragging it out, it was better to cook quickly and let him leave.

She turned and walked into the kitchen, tying an apron around her waist, and took out eggs, tomatoes, and spaghetti from the fridge. Her movements were skilled as she lit the stove, boiled water, and cooked the pasta. Soon, a faint aroma filled the kitchen.

Henry leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching her busy figure.

Amelia wore loose loungewear, the apron strings tied into a neat bow at her waist, her hair wrapped in a towel, exposing her slender neck. The light fell softly on her face, making her look like a delicate watercolor painting.

He suddenly felt that this homely scene brought him a sense of peace, even reminding him of his childhood on the tea plantation, watching Ella cook spaghetti. But the emotions back then were far less complex than they were now.

Soon, a bowl of spaghetti was placed on the table.

In the white porcelain bowl, the noodles were coated in rich tomato sauce, topped with a golden fried egg. It wasn't particularly fancy, but it exuded a comforting warmth.

Henry picked up the utensils and started eating heartily, finishing even the soup. He licked his lips, still savoring the taste.

Amelia sat across from him, watching his ravenous eating, unable to resist speaking. "Driving you to Lily's place and making this spaghetti, plus you mentioning Uncle Uriah to Grandpa, we're even now, right?"

The implication of her words was clear, she wanted him to leave.

Henry put down the utensils but didn't get up. Instead, he moved to the sofa, leaning forward slightly, his tone carrying a hint of melancholy. "Amelia, I'm actually feeling down today. Can you sit with me for a while? Just for a bit."

Amelia was taken aback.

The Henry before her was no longer the domineering, playful man she was used to. His shoulders slumped, his eyes showed genuine fatigue, and even his voice was softer, a stark contrast to the confident, decisive Henry she knew from the business world.

She hesitated for a moment but eventually sat down beside him, her tone gentler. "What's wrong? Did things not go well with Lily?"