My Amnesic Ex Married My Sister, So I Married His Uncle-Chapter 29: I Have a Friend...

Madeline Jennings’s brow furrowed as she listened.

It wasn’t that Kiana Sterling was overthinking things. Stella Sterling had been acting too abnormally lately, and Owen Rhodes’s appearance had been too sudden.

On top of that, Owen really did have the power to influence the marriage within the Rhodes Family.

If Stella really did meddle, and Owen was inclined to help her, there was no telling how things would turn out.

But at this point, all Madeline Jennings could do was suppress her unease and offer comfort. "Don’t work yourself up over nothing. Let’s not even talk about whether Stella has that much influence. Even if she did, Owen doesn’t call all the shots in the Rhodes Family. You just worry too much. Stop thinking about it."

As she spoke, Madeline reached out and wiped away the tears still lingering on Kiana’s face.

Kiana took the opportunity to fall into Madeline’s arms. "Thank you, Mom. If you hadn’t been here to guide me, I really don’t know what I would’ve done."

What a touching scene of motherly love and daughterly devotion.

With her head lowered, the scheming and smugness in Kiana’s eyes were finally unconcealed.

She just wanted to plant a seed in Madeline’s mind—that if anything went wrong with her marriage to Ethan Rhodes, it would definitely be Stella’s fault for sabotaging it.

...

Stella wanted to put her clothes away herself, but unfortunately, her injury was on her right shoulder. The slightest movement of her arm sent a sharp, pulling pain through the wound.

So Tate helped her. Stella gave the directions, and Tate followed them.

It was just her and Tate in the walk-in closet. They didn’t know each other well, and being in the same space felt a little awkward to Stella, so she tried to start a conversation.

Stella asked casually, "Tate, do you know what Owen likes to do in his free time?"

Although Stella had been holed up at home for the past few days, she had been completely absorbed in setting up her art studio and getting the house in order. She was always on her phone or tablet, or busy drawing. Naturally, Tate and Mr. Joel wouldn’t proactively disturb her.

But Tate could tell that Stella was a very pleasant person. She wasn’t pretentious and seemed easy to get along with.

Tate thought carefully, looking a bit troubled. "Sir is a very self-disciplined man with a very regular lifestyle. But if you’re asking about his hobbies, I’m really not sure. When he’s at home, he spends most of his time in the study."

And Tate, aside from when she was cleaning, generally didn’t enter the study.

Stella nodded and asked Tate to help her hang several different white dresses in the wardrobe.

"What about food? What does he usually like to eat?"

"Sir isn’t a picky eater..."

Tate paused mid-motion. She suddenly felt there was a problem with her job performance; she couldn’t answer a single one of the new mistress’s questions.

But Owen truly wasn’t demanding about food. Tate had never heard him comment on any of the meals she prepared.

Then she remembered something and quickly tried to salvage the situation. "Sir doesn’t have any particular food preferences, but he always has eggs and milk for breakfast every day, followed by a cup of coffee."

’Even if I don’t know my employer’s preferences, knowing his habits should be acceptable, right?’

She was a little anxious, wondering if this was Stella’s way of checking up on her work.

Stella just nodded and asked again, "Does he prefer soft-boiled eggs or hard-boiled eggs? Or maybe fried eggs? What about the milk? Does he have any specific requests?"

Tate: "..."

’No, he just alternates between them.’

’I don’t know, he drinks whatever I give him.’

’But if I answer like that, will it make an even worse impression on the mistress?’

Seeing Tate’s suddenly worried expression, Stella said, "I’m just asking casually, don’t be nervous. Tate, my clothes are almost all put away, but there’s still a lot of space left. It looks so empty..."

Stella didn’t have many clothes, not nearly enough to fill half the closet.

But she didn’t want to leave so much empty space; it didn’t look good.

This was where Tate’s skills came in handy.

She took some of Owen’s shirts that were crammed together in his section of the closet and moved them into Stella’s empty side.

"How does this look?"

The empty space was filled. Stella nodded. "Yes, that looks good."

A little over an hour later, Owen, holding an ice pack, found Stella on the master bedroom’s terrace, sitting on the floor with her knees hugged to her chest.

Stella always liked to sit with her knees hugged to her chest. Even when she slept, she would unconsciously hug herself. It was a sign of insecurity.

Owen didn’t say anything about her sitting on the ground. Instead, he thoughtfully brought over a cushion.

He walked over and gently patted Stella’s shoulder. "The ground is cold."

It actually wasn’t cold.

It was already June. Summer arrived early in Jandor, and with no transition.

The sun had been strong and out for a long time during the day, so the ground wasn’t cold at all.

Stella obediently pushed herself up, thanked him, and sat on the cushion.

Beside her was an exquisite wooden box, and at her feet lay two burnt-out cigarette butts. A faint smell of smoke hung in the air.

Owen didn’t ask about it. He sat down in the chair behind her, rested his elbows on his legs, and leaned forward to a height perfect for applying the ice pack for Stella.

Owen placed the ice pack on her shoulder. "Does it hurt?"

Stella was actually very afraid of pain, especially the pain of getting a shot.

No one had ever asked her if she was in pain before. Now that Owen had, she didn’t know if she should tell the truth, or if he would think she was being melodramatic if she said it hurt.

Owen said, "If it hurts, or if it’s too cold, you can tell me. What about your face? Does it still hurt?"

Stella turned to look at him, and his deep, gentle gaze silently enveloped her.

Stella shook her head. "My face doesn’t hurt anymore, but my shoulder does."

"Okay, I’ll be gentler."

The June evening breeze was cool yet refreshing, a pleasant temperature with a hint of warmth.

Stella said, "Owen, thank you for today."

In fact, it wasn’t just today. There were many things she ought to thank him for.

Owen looked down at her. "Do you really mean that?"

Stella hadn’t expected him to question it. For a moment, she forgot about her injured shoulder and turned back too quickly, causing her to gasp from the pain.

"Of course I do. Did my tone not sound sincere enough?"

The light on the terrace was dim, obscuring Owen’s furrowed brow.

Worried that Stella would hurt her wound again, Owen simply held her other shoulder.

"Then can I make a request?"

’Good heavens, the man who could flip Jandor on its head with a wave of his hand was actually asking her so nicely if he could make a request.’

"Of course you can!"

But before making his request, he asked Stella a question. "Stella, who am I to you?"

"Huh?" Stella didn’t understand.

He repeated, "Who am I to you?"

Stella thought for a moment, then suddenly raised her hand to scratch the tip of her nose and said in a tiny voice, "My husband."

She found the more intimate titles a bit too much to say out loud, so she’d chosen a more formal one.

"Right, your husband. So from now on, if you want to know anything about me, you can just ask me directly. Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you."

’Oh, so Tate told him about our conversation in the closet.’

A thought occurred to Stella. She raised her eyes to look at him, then quickly looked away again.

"I can ask anything?"

"Yes."

The light reflected in Stella’s eyes, making them sparkle, but her voice lacked confidence.

"Are you... are you asexual?"

"...Hm?"

Stella couldn’t make out the expression in Owen’s backlit eyes. She scratched her nose. "Ahem, well, I have a friend who thinks you look the asexual type."

A classic case of "asking for a friend."