Falling In Love With The Billionaire Twins

In the gentle morning light, I found solace in the warmth of the kitchen, wrapped in a cozy blanket that was a testament to Alex’s thoughtfulness. The boys were already off to work, and I was left with the gentle company of Cher, who had come over for breakfast. Ace’s creation of a fruit basket and Alex’s provision of extra warm blankets had turned the kitchen into a haven, a place where I could find comfort amid the unpredictable turmoil of my stomach flu.

As I nestled myself on a chair, cuddled up in the blanket, I watched Cher enjoy the breakfast that Ace had prepared for me. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air, but my stomach was too wary to embrace the offerings. I didn’t want to risk eating and then having to face another bout of vomiting. So, I contentedly watched Cher make the most of the spread while I nursed my warm mug of tea.

Cher’s presence was a soothing balm, her chatter filling the room with a sense of normalcy. Between sips of tea, I sighed and confessed, “Are you sure it’s just a stomach flu? What if you’re sick?”

I furrowed my brows in confusion, processing her words. “What do you mean, sick?” I asked, my tone laced with curiosity.

Cher leaned back in her chair, sipping her coffee as she considered her words. “I don’t know, maybe you ate something you’re allergic to. Food poisoning, perhaps?”

Shaking my head, I responded with conviction, “No, I’m sure it’s the flu. I don’t think it’s anything more serious.” My voice held a touch of weariness, a reflection of the relentless discomfort that had become a part of my days.

Cher’s eyebrows raised in an inquisitive arch, her expression one of both concern and interest. “You know,” she said, her voice gentle, “it’s better to be safe than sorry. Sometimes these things can be tricky.”

I nodded in agreement, acknowledging her point. “You’re right. I’ll keep an eye on it, and if it doesn’t get better, I’ll consider seeing a doctor.”

Our conversation paused momentarily as Cher focused on her scones and coffee. Her work clothes-composed of a tailored blazer, a crisp white blouse, and a knee-length pencil skirt-exuded an air of professionalism. Her attire was a subtle contrast to the cozy and casual setting of the kitchen, a reminder of the responsibilities waiting for her outside these walls.

As she indulged in her scones, I noticed another charming quirk-she dipped biscuits into her coffee, savoring the contrast of flavors and textures. The gesture brought a smile to my face, a small reminder of the uniqueness that made Cher the wonderful friend she was.

Her eyes lifted from her plate, her gaze meeting mine. “So, tell me about that dream you mentioned earlier. What was it?”Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

I shifted slightly in my chair, my fingers tracing patterns on the rim of my mug. The dream had lingered in my mind, a curious and unsettling memory that I was eager to share.

“It was strange,” I began, my voice carrying a hint of contemplation. “The dream was filled with this intense light, and there was a voice-my voice-saying, ‘Tragedy, tragedy is coming.'”

Cher’s eyebrows furrowed, a reflection of her intrigue. “That’s eerie,” she commented softly, her scone momentarily forgotten.

A shiver ran down my spine as I continued, “The voice didn’t stop there. It said, ‘Someone you love will die.'”

Cher’s coffee cup paused midway to her lips, her expression a mixture of astonishment and concern. “Whoa, that’s… intense,” she murmured.

I nodded, my gaze unfocused as I recalled the dream’s vividness. “And then, abruptly, I woke up. It felt so real, Cher. The words were the exact same ones the old lady at the park told me.”

Cher’s eyes widened in realization, the puzzle pieces falling into place. “Wait, the old lady? The one who was blabbering rubbish at the park?”

I nodded, my fingers tightening around the mug. “Yes, the exact same words. It’s… unsettling, to say the least.”

Cher leaned back in her chair, the gears of her mind turning. “Could it be a coincidence?”

I shrugged, a mixture of uncertainty and unease settling over me. “I don’t know. But the dream was vivid, Cher. Like a premonition or something.”

Cher’s voice was gentle, a touch of rationality in the midst of the mystery. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe you were thinking about it a lot, and you ended up dreaming about it. Happens with me a lot.”

I considered her words, a part of me wanting to believe in the simplicity of her explanation. “That could be,” I admitted. But deep down, I knew that something felt different about this dream. It wasn’t merely a product of overthinking or a wandering mind.

“That’s true,” I replied, my voice reflective. “But, you know, I wasn’t even thinking about it. I totally forgot about it. I was too caught up in my stomach flu.”

Cher raised an eyebrow, her expression curious. “Well, that could be,” she conceded. “But don’t make a big deal out of it. She was just an old woman, and it was just a dream. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Cher’s straightforward perspective brought a hint of relief. She was right-I didn’t have to delve too deeply into the dream’s significance. It was easy to get caught up in the web of conjecture and speculation, especially when faced with something as enigmatic as a prophetic dream.

I let out a sigh, a mixture of gratitude and acceptance in my voice. “You’re right, Cher. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Cher’s next action was comforting and nurturing. She shoved a glass of warm tea in my direction, her words laden with concern. “Drink it. You look pale.” Her attentiveness was touching, a reminder of the care she offered without hesitation.

I took the glass gratefully, wrapping my fingers around the warmth of the ceramic. The steam rose in tendrils, carrying with it the comforting aroma of herbal tea. I took a few sips, feeling the soothing effect as the liquid slid down my throat.

“Here,” Cher said, her tone encouraging. “Eat an orange. It might help with your stomach.”

She handed me a vibrant orange, its citrusy scent filling the air as I peeled back the skin. The juicy sweetness was a welcome contrast to the discomfort I’d been experiencing, and I took slow, deliberate bites, savoring each mouthful.

Cher’s gaze drifted to her watch, and a string of curses escaped her lips. “I need to get to work,” she exclaimed, her tone a mix of urgency and frustration. She stood up, her movements swift as she gathered her belongings.

She gave me a tight hug, her warmth and care evident in the gesture. “Get well soon,” she said sincerely. “Rest a lot. I’ll come by tonight with your favorite Chinese food.”

A genuine smile tugged at my lips, touched by Cher’s unwavering support. “Thank you,” I said, my voice filled with gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Cher winked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just doing what friends do.”

With that, she headed towards the door, her departure a reminder that life was moving forward, despite the mysteries and dreams that had filled the morning.