Thalassa spun around, and there was Spencer, sporting a crisp blue shirt and slate-gray slacks, striding toward her with a plump chicken in his grasp.

Relief washed over Thalassa as she greeted him, "Spencer, did you go grocery shopping?"

Spencer?

The name struck Alaric like a hammer to the heart, his steps faltered, and he turned, the carefree smirk wiped clean off his face.

Indeed, Spencer approached, a lively hen clutched in his hand.

Alaric's gaze fixed on the chicken's clucking beak, a shiver running down his spine, his skin crawling with goosebumps. Rooted to the spot, paralyzed with dread, he couldn't move an inch. Since childhood, Alaric had harbored an irrational fear of beaked creatures, chickens most of all!

And now, as fate would have it, Spencer was parading the very object of his phobia. Alaric felt trapped, his blood running cold with alarm.

to make a hearty soup for Hertha-help with her recovery," Spencer said,

added, "Mr. Falconer, you missed out on the meal last time. Stay for some chicken soup,

a tad higher, flaunting its quality, hinting at the savory broth it would yield. In a show of good faith, Spencer edged closer to Alaric, chicken in hand. Confronted with the chicken's beak, Alaric's

had gotten

C

FAVOURITE GAMES ON

his voice quivering

fled to his car, revved the engine, and sped off, leaving a

stood there, baffled. "What just

suave and a bit wicked, had

help but want

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