Mark stared at the door.
“It should be room service,” he told Cecilia over the phone.
“I just asked for some cold medicine.”
“I see,” Cecilia replied.
“Go to bed early tonight.”
There was a softness in the way she talked to Mark-a softness he missed very much.
“I’ll go back tomorrow morning,” he replied in a hoarse voice.
After some hesitation from both sides, the two hung up the phone.
As Mark opened the door, a waiter pushed a small dining cart inside the room.
Aside from cold medicine, there was also a meal.
Seeing this, Mark frowned.
“I didn’t order any food.”
“Mr. Garcia ordered it for you,” the waiter replied with a smile.
Mark moved aside to let the waiter in. Then, he let out a helpless sigh and shook his head. Mark thought Peter would never allow him to be hungry.
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After that, the waiter left.
Mark took a shower before taking the cold medicine.
His laptop was on the coffee table. There, he was concocting a business proposal.
Since Mark wasn’t hungry, he only took a few bites casually as he read.
Then he abruptly stopped eating. Somehow, these dishes tasted familiar to him.
They tasted like dishes he had for lunch the past few days, cooked by his domestic servants.
Mark was a sensitive man and easily sensed that something was wrong.
These dishes weren’t cooked by a five-star hotel chef. Rather, they tasted like they were cooked from home.
He looked at the dishes and studied them carefully.
Then, he took out his phone and dialed the landline number of the villa in Duefron. After a few rings, a servant answered the call.