Chapter 1245 Against Moral Norms
Stella proved far more compliant than Randy had anticipated. Once she drifted off to sleep, she remained peaceful through the night, sleeping soundly until dawn.
When the first rays of morning light filtered through the clouds and into the room, Randy rose from the window seat and walked slowly to the bedside. Gazing down at Stella's serene sleeping face, his lips curved into an involuntary smile. Unable to resist, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Mmm..." Stella murmured softly, rolling over and clutching the blanket between her legs, her back now facing Randy in a rather undignified position.
Randy shook his head with resigned amusement, carefully extracted the blanket from beneath her, and pulled it up to cover her properly. After one last lingering look, he reluctantly left the room. Before departing, he tidied the living area and took the trash with him, leaving no trace of his overnight presence.
He hadn't slept a wink.
Randy's face bore the telltale signs of exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot and weary. On his way home, he stopped at a pharmacy to purchase hangover medication, which he handed to his driver upon reaching Sunshine Manor with instructions to deliver it to Stella's hotel.
When he entered the house, everyone except Charles and Hannah was gathered around the breakfast table. Seeing him return from outside, they nearly dropped their toast in shock, mouths agape and eyes wide with disbelief.
After a stunned silence, Fannie finally found her voice. "Randy, did you just wake up, or are you just getting home? Because unless my eyes are deceiving me, you're coming in from outside. You didn't... you didn't stay out all night, did you?"
This was completely out of character for Randy, who was known for his self-discipline and rigid routine. Whether working away or at home, he never spent nights elsewhere. During business trips, he returned to his hotel punctually. At home, his schedule was equally regimented. Unlike the rest of them, who had become slaves to their devices and stayed up scrolling until the last possible moment, Randy was different. Apart from late-night composing sessions, he had no other vices and rarely stayed up past midnight, let alone stayed out all night.
Something was definitely wrong. Even Charles, despite being consumed with wedding preparations, hadn't pulled an all-nighter like this.
Noticing Randy's haggard appearance, Patricia beckoned him over with concern. Randy obediently took a seat at the breakfast table.
"Randy, has something happened?" Patricia asked gently. "I can tell something's weighing on you. Are you facing some kind of difficulty? Whatever it is, you can tell us—we're here to help."
As his mother, she knew her son better than anyone. When Andrea had disappeared before their wedding, Randy had searched tirelessly, becoming increasingly disheveled with worry and anxiety. Later, when Andrea found her true love and their engagement was called off, Randy had been heartbroken but quickly accepted reality and bounced back. In all the time since their reunion, Patricia had never seen this particular expression on Randy's face—this haunted, troubled look that went beyond mere fatigue.
Randy closed his eyes and wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm fine. Just tired."
"Tired from work, or from helping Charles with wedding preparations?" Patricia pressed.
Randy had no intention of discussing the matter. His inappropriate feelings for Stella felt shameful and sordid—something that had to remain hidden at all costs. He needed to bury these emotions completely.
"Mom, I'm really fine—just exhausted. You all continue with breakfast. I'm going upstairs to shower and get some sleep. If you need anything, just knock."
Without waiting for Patricia's response, he stood and left the room.
The family exchanged puzzled glances. Patricia turned to Fannie. "Do you have any idea what's going on with Randy?"
Fannie spread her hands and shrugged helplessly. "No clue."
Patricia looked to Maria, who mirrored the gesture. "I don't know either. He seemed fine yesterday, and now this."
Finally, Patricia's gaze fell on Declan, who continued eating his toast with deliberate calm. "Randy is twenty-seven years old—a grown man. It's perfectly normal for adults to have concerns and troubles. I trust Randy has the capacity to handle his own affairs. Perhaps you should learn to give him space."
Being lectured by her youngest son left Patricia momentarily speechless, her expression twisting with indignation. "Oh, so now you're giving me parenting advice?"
"I'm simply stating facts," Declan replied evenly. "Randy isn't a three-year-old. He's entitled to privacy and personal struggles. Concern is one thing, but if he doesn't want to discuss it, you shouldn't pry. Otherwise, you'll only add to his stress."
The others couldn't help but suppress smiles as they watched Patricia get schooled by the family's youngest member. In this household, Patricia ruled like a queen, protected by her husband's unwavering support. Everyone else feared her—everyone except Declan. Despite being the youngest, he possessed an old soul, serious and unsmiling, delivering lectures with the gravity of an elder. His logical arguments always left Patricia speechless.
Patricia was practically vibrating with frustration. Seeing his wife's flushed face and clenched jaw, Martin's protective instincts kicked in. He grabbed a fork and hurled it at Declan.
"If you upset my wife again, I'll show you what's what!"
Declan, having anticipated this reaction, calmly tilted his head and dodged the projectile. Martin immediately turned his attention to soothing Patricia, rubbing her back consolingly.
"Don't let him get to you, sweetheart. You know how he is—that sharp tongue of his. He doesn't understand a mother's heart yet. When he has children of his own, he'll appreciate what you do."
Fannie and Maria rolled their eyes in unison, having witnessed this domestic drama countless times. Even Martin's consoling words followed the same predictable script. They'd long since lost interest in the family theatrics and returned to their breakfast.
Meanwhile, Randy retreated to his room, took a hot shower, and collapsed onto his bed, desperately trying to force himself to sleep. But the moment he closed his eyes, Stella's face materialized in his mind.
"Randy, you're so handsome."
"Your lips are so soft and sweet."
"You bite me!"
"Blow on it. Mommy says when something hurts, blowing makes it better."
"It doesn't hurt anymore. Blowing really works."
Every moment with Stella played like film clips in his head, an endless loop he couldn't escape. His heart constricted with a dull, persistent ache that radiated through his entire body like ripples on water, making it difficult to breathe. He curled onto his side, pressing his right hand firmly against his chest, trying to minimize the pain.
He could do this. He had to. He'd always been rational and controlled—he would never cross moral boundaries. If he willed it strongly enough, he could suppress these feelings.
Yes. He could do this.
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