The next morning, Ridley stayed home from school, still feeling under the weather. By the time he dragged himself out of bed, breakfast had already been cleared away.
When the maid offered to whip up something quick, Ridley crossed his arms and scowled. "I don't want your nasty food. Go tell my mom to cook for me."
He'd barely eaten anything, but hunger had been gnawing at him all night. What he really craved was Ana's thick, comforting porridge.
——
Ana's POV
When the maid tracked me down, I was already grabbing my bag, ready to head out. "I'm swamped today. Can't cook for him right now. Just make sure someone keeps an eye on him," I told her.
"But Hughes says our cooking tastes terrible," she explained.
"Then he can starve," I shot back, my expression stone-cold as I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed for the stairs.
