Three Years Forgotten, Why Go Crazy When I Say Goodbye? novel Chapter 372

When he remained silent, Willow shifted uncomfortably. "What's wrong? Did I say something to upset you?"

"No, I'm not upset," Silas said, his dark eyes fixed on her. "I was just thinking about a few things."

"Bad things?" Willow asked.

"No. Just reflecting on where I fell short."

"Oh." Willow didn't push. It sounded personal, and she wasn't one to pry. She wanted to pivot the conversation.

But Silas beat her to it. "I promise you," he said, his voice dropping to a serious, resonant timbre, "that will never happen again."

Willow didn't entirely understand what he was promising, but she nodded anyway. She trusted him implicitly. Whatever his reasons were, she knew they were grounded.

After finishing his water, Silas moved to the kitchen to unpack. Willow finally got a good look at the sheer volume of groceries he had brought.

The first bag held the makings of a rich, restorative broth: an organic free-range chicken and a bundle of fresh herbs and root vegetables. It was the ultimate comfort meal.

The second bag was packed with premium ingredients for healthy entrees—asparagus, jumbo shrimp, fresh greens, and high-quality cuts of meat, all perfectly portioned for maximum nutrition.

The final bag was filled with high-end wellness supplements and organic vitamins, neatly stacked in elegant boxes along the counter.

Seeing the feast he was preparing, Willow felt a twinge of guilt. She wanted to contribute, but she knew offering to pay for the groceries would only insult him and ruin the mood.

"How about I cook today?" she offered.

Silas chuckled softly. "Do you even know what I'm making?"

Willow sighed in defeat. "Come on, there has to be something I can do."

"You really want to help?"

"Yes."

Silas glanced down at his wrists. "Then come roll up my sleeves. My hands are wet."

"Okay."

Willow stepped close, her fingers gently grasping the fabric of his cuffs. Up close, the first thing she noticed was how beautiful his hands were. His fingers were long and elegantly structured, the faint blue veins tracing across the back of his hands adding a touch of rugged masculinity to his refined aura. His wrists were lean but undeniably strong, moving with a restrained, aristocratic grace.