From His Fake Wife to Billionaire Heiress Chapter 54: A Delivered Meal

The question landed right in the pit of Lucas' stomach—not a sharp blow, but more like a dull, lingering pressure that left him momentarily unable to speak.

What was he even supposed to say?

He broke eye contact, leaning over to fold up the bedside tray table, using the motion to mask the guilt and discomfort tightening in his chest.

"You're overthinking this," he finally managed, his tone deliberately even. "Everyone in the family is hoping we'll have a baby. No one would tamper with something that important."

"Oh." Riley's lips curved into a faint, almost mocking pout. "Well, if you say so. I guess it doesn't matter anyway—it's not like filing a report would actually get the police anywhere."

Her act—meek, a little defeated—worked just enough to stir a shallow, artificial pang of guilt in him.

That night, Lucas didn't go back to their apartment. For the first time since they'd been together, he stayed at the clinic, sleeping on the pull-out cot beside her bed.

The next morning, he went a step further and had his assistant order a premium bone broth from that upscale organic place downtown, hoping to play the part of the attentive, caring husband in front of Riley.

But when the carefully packaged container arrived, Riley barely glanced at it before turning her face toward the window.

"I'm not hungry."

She didn't touch a drop. With those three words, she shut down his performative concern, cold and clear.

Lucas remembered she'd finished the homemade chicken soup the day before, so he pushed down his impatience. "If you don't like this one, I can ask Lydia to bring more of what she got you yesterday. You're still recovering—you need proper meals, not just what you're in the mood for."

His voice sounded gentle enough, but underneath ran a current of condescension, like he was explaining basic rules to a child.

Riley let out a soft, noncommittal hum. "Sure. I'll ask her later where she ordered it from."

Just then, a light knock sounded at the door.

A woman in her late forties or early fifties stepped inside, her expression warm and kind. She carried a sleek insulated lunch bag and offered a polite smile. "Excuse me—are you Ms. Riley Harper? I was asked to drop off some meals for you."

Riley's gaze flickered.

She had a feeling Sebastian was behind this.

His efficiency still caught her off guard sometimes.

She'd been wondering how to steer the conversation toward Lydia naturally, but Lucas was already on his feet, stepping between the woman and the bed, his eyes narrowed.

"Hold on," he said, voice edged with suspicion. "You're a friend of my wife's? Which friend, exactly?"

He straightened, adopting that entitled, in-charge posture he so often used. "I'm sorry, but if you can't give me a clear answer, she won't be accepting anything. We don't take food from strangers."

As far as he knew, ever since Riley married him, her entire world had shrunk to his orbit.

Her social circle was minimal.

Since when did she have a friend thoughtful enough to arrange delivered meals—and for several days?

It put him on edge, though he couldn't quite say why.

The woman, however, didn't seem ruffled at all. Her smile remained steady, calm and professional. "No need to worry, sir. It was Ms. Grant. I run the personal chef service downstairs from her condo building. She picked up a pot of free-range chicken soup from me yesterday and mentioned how much Ms. Harper enjoyed it, so she called afterward to arrange a few days' worth of meals."

Her explanation came out smooth, fitting seamlessly with the previous day's events.

To make it more convincing, she added, "The service is fully licensed and registered with the health department—you're welcome to look us up if you'd like reassurance."

Inside, Riley let out a quiet breath of relief, impressed all over again by how thoroughly Sebastian had covered every angle.

He hadn't just sent someone—he'd prepared a full backstory.

"Lucas," Riley cut in at just the right moment, her tone lightly annoyed. "What's the big deal? Just take the food and say thank you."

Caught off guard by how plausible it all sounded, Lucas had little choice but to set his doubts aside. He accepted the lunch bag stiffly and offered a terse thanks.

The woman placed it gently on the nightstand and turned to Riley with the same kind demeanor. "Ms. Harper, I'll be back around lunch. Do you have any preferences or dietary restrictions I should keep in mind?"

Riley's eyes glinted almost imperceptibly.

She held the woman's gaze and asked, "Do you know how to make a good borscht?"

There was a brief pause before the woman nodded. "I do, actually. I lived in Nexopolis for years."

"Then let's start with that," Riley said smoothly. "For the rest, I trust your judgment."

Once the woman excused herself politely and left, the room settled back into a heavy, two-person silence.

Lucas stared at the untouched container of broth he'd brought, then at the new bag beside it, from which a rich, savory aroma was already escaping. His irritation began to simmer.

"Riley," he said, his voice low and tense. "Do you have some kind of issue with my family? I went out of my way to have this specially prepared for you, and you won't touch it. But the second something comes from Lydia, it's suddenly fine to eat?"