Chapter 6: The Taste Of Anxiety

Sherry paced back and forth anxiously in the spacious house. The elderly housekeeper, observing the young woman’s restless energy, found it both amusing and endearing. Still, out of respect for Sherry’s pride, she held back her laughter. Sherry alternated between sitting and standing, occasionally pulling out her phone to look up recipes. While she had cooked for the children at the orphanage before, those meals always came with pre-set menus. She never had to plan everything herself, and certainly not for a famously wealthy and notoriously selective individual like Rye Mavis.

Even though their partnership was defined by a contract, the dynamic felt unmistakably like that of a boss and subordinate—an inherently nerve-wracking situation. Sherry’s mind flashed back to her first month at the preschool. Just meeting the principal had made her hands tremble and her stomach twist in knots, even though she’d done nothing wrong. Her eyes drifted to Mary, the housekeeper, who was quietly standing nearby. Suddenly, she remembered Arden, Rye’s assistant, mentioning that Mary had looked after Rye for years. Surely, Mary would know something about his preferences.

“Mary, do you happen to know what Mr. Mavis likes to eat?” Sherry asked hesitantly, her cheeks tinged with pink.

“Oh, youth is such a beautiful thing!” Mary chuckled, her eyes twinkling as she gently patted Sherry’s shoulder. “Mr. Mavis has never been a picky eater—not since his school days. Whatever you make, Miss Sherry, he’ll love it. That’s the magic of love, my dear! Hahaha!”

If we truly were lovers, maybe she’d be right.

Sherry kept the thought to herself, unwilling to argue. Instead, she focused on her plan. After some deliberation, she decided on a menu: a hearty curry for the main course—easy to make, delicious, and a favorite among the children she used to cook for at the orphanage. For dessert, she chose light and refreshing tropical fruit tarts. It was a foolproof combination—or at least, she hoped so.

He wouldn’t cancel the contract just because my cooking isn’t great… would he?

The rumor that Rye had a stunningly beautiful girlfriend quickly became the talk of the upper class, spreading through elite circles with lightning speed. For someone of Rye’s stature, it wasn’t unusual to see him casually dating actresses or singers—such flings were commonplace and rarely raised eyebrows. Marriage, however, was an entirely different matter, and this distinction kept most from digging too deeply into Sherry’s background.

What truly fueled the gossip mill wasn’t her origins but the peculiar rumor that Sherry was merely a stand-in for Elena, a woman from Rye’s past. This speculation wasn’t without its so-called “evidence,” either. Those who had gone to school with Rye claimed there was an uncanny resemblance between the two women. The only obvious differences were Elena’s common brown hair and eyes compared to Sherry’s striking golden-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. People who had known Elena further remarked that, unlike Sherry, she lacked the pure, innocent allure that made others instinctively want to protect her.

The rumor polarized public opinion among the elites. On one side were the men, who marveled at Rye’s taste, joking that he had managed to find a stand-in who was not only a near-perfect replica of Elena but arguably even more captivating. On the other side were the women, who harshly criticized Sherry. They called her a conniving gold-digger, a cunning seductress who used her charm to manipulate Rye, capture his attention, and leech off his fortune.

Despite these divided opinions, there was one point where everyone agreed: Sherry was nothing more than a passing fling for Rye. Most believed she was merely a placeholder until Elena returned. The prevailing assumption was that once the “real deal” came back, Sherry, the so-called stand-in actress, would be cast aside without a second thought.

This growing narrative only made the situation more amusing—or tragic, depending on one’s perspective. Regardless of the truth, Sherry’s presence in Rye’s life had created waves that refused to settle. The fact that a man coveted by countless beautiful debutantes suddenly went public with a relationship with an unknown actress only fueled more rumors. It gave the public even more reason to weave new stories, further solidifying the belief that she was merely "playing a role" in some hidden narrative.

Meanwhile, Rye appeared utterly indifferent to the speculation, focusing instead on his task at hand. At the mall, he continued his search for the perfect gift for Sherry. Though their relationship was the subject of endless chatter, he approached the matter with his characteristic composure. For Rye, etiquette dictated that bringing a gift was the proper thing to do, but it was also important to send the right message. The gift needed to strike a careful balance: formal enough to avoid making Sherry feel awkward, yet personal enough to convince others that their relationship was more than a mere business arrangement.

When word spread that Rye Mavis himself was shopping in person, the branch manager of the mall immediately rushed to attend to him. Such a sight was incredibly rare; most of Rye’s peers would send assistants, secretaries, or house staff to shop on their behalf, while luxury brands often brought exclusive collections directly to their doors. To see a billionaire of Rye’s stature strolling through the mall was almost unprecedented.

The branch manager watched in silence as Rye completed two full laps around the stores, deep in thought, before beginning a third circuit. The manager, though itching to offer suggestions, dared not interrupt the billionaire’s focus. Finally, Rye stopped and turned to the manager, who had been trailing a respectful distance behind him.

“Manager!” Rye said, his tone calm but contemplative, “what do women like?”

The manager, startled by the direct question, quickly composed himself. “For Miss Sherry, I presume?” he asked, careful not to overstep. “The newest collection from G Fashion has been immensely popular with young ladies lately. If you’d like, I can take you to the boutique immediately!”

“She doesn’t like designer items.” The branch manager hesitated, unsure of what to add. Who could possibly not like luxury brands? He thought back to his own mistresses, who often feigned disinterest in expensive gifts just to get even more extravagant ones. Quietly, he convinced himself that Rye’s young girlfriend was likely playing the same game.

“Then do you know what Miss Willows enjoys?”

“Sweet treats.” Rye remembered the candies Sherry had carried with her to the wine party that night. There was something oddly captivating about them—so sweet it almost felt enchanting.

“We have an extensive selection of sweets from high-end brands, each one with a flavor so sweet it lingers long after. These are crafted with the finest ingredients, meant exclusively for our most distinguished guests. We also offer delicacies made from ingredients once presented to royalty centuries ago.”

“Alright, bring them here.”

Rye entered a luxurious café and sat down, patiently waiting as he gently sipped the refreshing fruit tea that was brought to him. He had always lived by reason and science, and unless absolutely necessary, he steered clear of any stimulants. The young billionaire had long maintained a sharp mind and clear judgment. He only resorted to alcohol when required, but outside of that, he avoided anything that might dull his senses. When he first took over his company, the constant pressure of work, coupled with a tightly packed schedule, had thrown his sleeping patterns into chaos. The stress had been so overwhelming that he ended up in the hospital for a week, receiving IV fluids to restore his energy. After being discharged, he made a conscious effort to get back on track—exercising regularly, eating properly, and trying to maintain a routine sleep schedule. Despite these efforts, he still found himself dealing with bouts of stomachaches and indigestion from time to time.

As he sat there, his thoughts wandered, and then something caught his eye. A young waitress, who had come to bring him his tea, wore a delicate silver bracelet on her wrist. It had a red rose pendant and a small butterfly charm. Each time she moved her hand, the butterfly fluttered toward the rose, creating a surprisingly lifelike effect. Rye found himself transfixed by the simple beauty of the piece.

The waitress, noticing his gaze, flushed slightly. Who wouldn’t feel self-conscious when a handsome, wealthy man like him was staring so intently at them? She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

Rye, still mesmerized, continued to watch. His bodyguard, who had been silently observing from a distance, approached the waitress to inspect the bracelet. The girl, now clearly embarrassed, seemed to shrink in on herself. She had only worn the bracelet as a personal accessory, but now she realized it was nothing special—just a cheap piece of jewelry that even someone in her position could afford. She could almost feel the weight of her own self-delusions, the romantic fantasy she had built up in her mind about the billionaire’s interest in her.

Rye, however, was not looking at her with any romantic interest. He wasn’t captivated by her or the charm of the bracelet; he was simply fascinated by the bracelet’s design. Despite being an inexpensive item, the way the butterfly danced around the rose every time she moved was oddly enchanting. It was a small thing, yet it captured his attention in a way that made it seem more significant.

He thought to himself.

If she wore this bracelet with the right kind of outfit, it would look stunning. 

It wasn’t that the bracelet was valuable, but it had a certain appeal when paired with the right presence. It struck him that even something as simple as this could be beautiful if worn in the right way, just like how the right person could make an object shine. The thought lingered in his mind as he took another sip of his tea.

The moment passed, and he returned to his thoughts, but the image of the butterfly flitting around the rose remained with him for some time.