The Stand-In Who Burned the Script novel Chapter 482

Silas lifted his gaze toward the second floor. His dark eyes were bottomless, like an endless abyss.

After a long moment, Vivian felt his grip on her hand tighten slightly, followed by his calm, steady voice.

"Since she's not feeling well, she should rest. We'll visit another day."

He said 'another day.'

But Judith couldn't shake the feeling that the rift between mother and son was only growing deeper.

Watching their retreating figures, she couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh.

She turned and headed upstairs.

"Are they gone?"

As Judith entered, the woman on the bed, dressed in premium silk pajamas, had her eyes tightly shut. It was as if she had anticipated what had just happened downstairs. Her complexion was noticeably pale.

Judith nodded respectfully. "Yes. Silas said you should rest well, and that he'll come back to see you another day."

Another day.

It sounded like nothing more than a fleeting promise.

Whether that day would ever come, no one could say.

A few seconds later, Cynthia slowly opened her eyes. Her indifferent expression made it seem as though she didn't care about anything. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Judith, do you think I shouldn't have come back?"

If she hadn't come back, none of this would have happened.

It wouldn't have poured salt on an already strained relationship.

But her son... he was far too independent. Even when she called to ask about his marriage, he always brushed it off. He wouldn't even send a single photo.

Consumed by worry, what other choice did she have but to see it for herself?

"You didn't do anything wrong."

Judith looked at her with aching sympathy.

"You are his mother. It's only natural for you to look out for his marriage. It's just..."

She pressed her lips together, hesitating for a long time before carefully finishing her thought. "You seem to hold a prejudice against the Young Mistress. I actually think she's a wonderful match for him."

When prejudice takes root, even the most genuine acts of kindness can instantly turn into blades, hurting everyone involved.

Cynthia's gaze clouded over for a fraction of a second.

She shot the man beside her a pitiful, expectant look. Taking the hint flawlessly, Silas grabbed a plate, slipped on a pair of plastic gloves, and began shelling the seafood with unhurried, elegant precision.

"You're the best, Silas."

She leaned over, eyes sparkling with affection, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Silas's calm gaze landed on her face. After three days, her illness had vanished completely, leaving only a radiant, captivating glow.

"Sit still and eat."

"Oh."

She was starving, after all.

Still, between bites, she couldn't resist glancing at him, her eyes brimming with admiration. "You probably don't realize this, but you look incredibly hot whenever you do things for me."

"Then I won't do them anymore."

"Don't be like that."

"..."

A slight numbness prickled at Silas's nerves. His voice dropped to a low warning. "Speak properly!"