Fated To Not Just One But Three novel Chapter 452

Chapter 452: Still Care

Frederick’s POV

Louis stood at the door, his expression hard, arms folded across his chest. The air between us tightened instantly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply. "You should leave."

I met his stare calmly, though my hands still trembled slightly. "I’m here for Selene."

That made him raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Not for Olivia?" His tone carried disbelief and something close to mockery. "So you like Selene now? Does that mean you’ll finally let Olivia go?"

I said nothing. There was no point arguing about what he couldn’t understand.

Louis gave a small, humorless laugh. "You killed her mother," he said flatly. "And now you’re standing here pretending you care?"

My jaw tightened. "I didn’t kill her," I said quietly. "And I’ll prove it."

Louis stepped closer, his brown eyes sharp. "We’ll have that conversation later," he said coldly, "but for now, you need to leave."

"No," I replied simply.

He frowned. "What?"

"I said no." I glanced past him, down the hallway. "Where’s the kitchen?"

His brows furrowed, clearly thrown off. "The kitchen?"

"Yes," I said, brushing past him before he could argue. "Selene hasn’t eaten in hours. I’m going to make her something."

Louis blinked, almost speechless. "You’re unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Maybe," I said, pausing briefly. "I’ll leave once I’m sure Selene is okay." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Then I continued down the hall, leaving him behind, confused, irritated, and maybe, just maybe, a little unsure of what to think anymore.

The hallways of the Luciano mansion were silent. My footsteps echoed softly as I made my way through the vast corridors, searching for the kitchen.

It was almost 3 a.m.

The whole house was asleep or grieving.

I finally found the kitchen after a few wrong turns. It was enormous, with marble counters, long shelves, and rows of silver pots gleaming under the dim light. But it was empty. Not a single kitchen assistant or cook in sight.

Of course, no one was thinking about food tonight.

I sighed and stepped inside. The silence was thick. For a second, I just stood there, unsure where to start. It had been years since I last cooked anything.

Decades, actually.

I rolled up my sleeves, scanning the space until I found a few simple ingredients: bread, eggs, milk, and honey. My fingers brushed against the counter, remembering the movements, the rhythm.

It felt strange, comforting, and painful at the same time.

The last time I cooked for someone, it had been for Hailee, shockingly Selene’s great-grandmother.

I could still remember her laughter, the way she had teased me for burning the first attempt. "Lord Frederick, you’re terrible with a stove," she had said, grinning.

And I had laughed, a sound that felt foreign now. It had been a long time since I laughed that way.

My chest tightened as I whisked the eggs and poured them into a pan. The soft crackle filled the silence, and for a moment, it almost felt peaceful.

I caught my reflection in the window: older, colder, and tired. "Hailee," I murmured quietly, "you’d laugh if you saw me now."

The smell of the food spread faintly through the kitchen. It wasn’t much, just warm bread and eggs with a drizzle of honey, but it was okay.

And maybe that’s what Selene needed most right now.

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