Paul sat on the sofa, trying hard to make his posture appear natural, but the panic in his heart surged like the rising tide, wave after wave, threatening to drown him.
The gazes of the women around him seemed to carry X-rays, as if they could pierce through his disguise and reach the secret buried deep within.
Beatrice sat down beside him, the doubt in her eyes still lingering. She gently took Paul's hand, and though her warm touch should have been comforting, it made Paul stiffen as if jolted by electricity.
Tilting her head slightly, Beatrice said softly, "Darling, you've been acting so strange today. Is something bothering you? You've never shied away from my closeness before."
Paul's heartbeat quickened abruptly, thundering in his chest like a drum. He opened his mouth, his mind racing to conjure up a plausible excuse to brush her off.
"Maybe… work's been piling up lately. The pressure's getting to me, and my head's still catching up. Don't overthink it, babe."
He tried to keep his voice steady, but the faint tremor betrayed his inner tension.
Ava, sitting nearby, watched with a half-smile, her sharp intuition telling her something was off about this "Krook." She leaned forward deliberately, blinking her big eyes with a playful pout, and said, "No matter how busy work gets, you can't neglect us! Tell me, you've barely spent any proper time with us these past few days."
Paul felt like he was being roasted over a fire. Fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He forced a dry laugh and replied, "Neglect you? Never! Once this busy spell is over, I'll take you all out for some fun, I promise."
As he spoke, he subtly pulled his hand free from Beatrice's grasp, picked up the glass of water on the table, and took a gulp, trying to mask his discomfort.
Tracy stood quietly to the side, her deep, piercing gaze fixed on him. She observed Paul like he was a rare yet suspicious artifact, not missing a single subtle expression or movement. Suddenly, she spoke, "Krook, that watch on your wrist—didn't you always wear that Rolex you loved so much? Why the switch today?"
Paul's heart skipped a beat. His hand instinctively touched the watch on his wrist, realizing too late that he'd overlooked this detail in his haste. His mind went blank for a moment before he stammered, "Oh… that one's in for maintenance. I'm just making do with this one for now."
His answer didn't seem to ease Tracy's suspicions. She frowned slightly but didn't press further, merely nodding. Yet her eyes clearly spelled out "I don't quite buy it."
Paul felt as though he were caught in an invisible web, the more he struggled, the tighter it ensnared him.
He stole a glance at the women around him. Each expression seemed laden with hidden meaning. Behind their casual chatter, it was as if countless eyes were watching from the shadows, ready to seize any slip-up and expose him as the imposter he was.
Outside, the sky had darkened unnoticed, thick clouds gathering as if to amplify the suspenseful atmosphere pervading the villa.
Paul stared out the window, a wave of unease rising within him. He didn't know how many more eyes or overlooked details awaited to unmask him, nor whether he could keep playing the role of Krook amid these mounting crises.
The clouds outside grew denser, pressing heavily over the villa. Occasional flashes of lightning streaked through the darkness like prying eyes, fleeting yet chilling, as if foretelling an impending storm.
Inside, the villa's lights cast a dim, yellowish glow, throwing mottled shadows on the walls and deepening the oppressive mood in the living room.
Paul sat on the sofa, restless as if on pins and needles. The women's seemingly casual chatter rang in his ears like the tolling of a judgment bell, each chime striking his taut nerves.
Finally, dinner time arrived, and as everyone moved to the dining room, Paul let out a quiet sigh of relief, hoping to use the meal to steady himself. Little did he know, an even greater challenge awaited him at the table.
In the dining room, the long table gleamed under the light, adorned with exquisite tableware and dishes bursting with color and aroma. The candles in their holders flickered faintly, casting shifting shadows across the faces of the diners, each revealing a different expression.
Beatrice sat to Paul's left, dressed in a pale blue dress that highlighted her gentle elegance. Yet a trace of doubt lingered in her eyes, her gaze drifting toward Paul now and then, as if searching for answers.
Ava sat across from him in a striking red fitted dress, its bold hue matching her lively personality. Her bright, cunning eyes sparkled with curiosity, and the faint smile tugging at her lips only heightened Paul's unease.
Tracy sat a bit farther away, clad in a simple white suit, her shoulder-length hair sharp and professional. She appeared focused on her food, but her occasional piercing glances felt like needles, keeping Paul on edge.
Paul stared at the array of dishes, straining to recall the dining habits of Krook that Thompson had briefed him on. But his nerves muddled his thoughts, and the details he'd memorized slipped into a fog, just out of reach.
When the housekeeper, Aunt Zhang, began serving the dishes and brought out Krook's favorite—French escargot—Paul knew the test had begun.
According to the notes, Krook always savored the dish by first inhaling its distinct aroma, then gracefully using a special fork to extract the meat.
Paul swallowed hard, reaching for the fork with a trembling hand. He gripped it at last, but as he went to pick up the escargot, he pressed too hard. The meat shot out, landing on the table with a soft "plop."
The sound pierced the quiet dining room, and Paul's face flushed red with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to explain, but words failed him.
Ava burst out laughing, teasing, "Wow, Krook, what's up with your hands today? Did the snail get the better of you?"
Beatrice's frown deepened. She said softly, "Darling, you're really not yourself today. Are you feeling unwell? Maybe you should rest early tonight."
Her tone was full of concern, but her eyes brimmed with growing doubt.
Paul waved it off hastily, forcing calm into his voice. "No, no, I'm fine. I just zoned out for a second. Probably just tired from the last couple of days."
He reached for his utensils again, trying to resume eating, but his heart churned like a bucket brigade—up and down, up and down.
The rest of the meal was a string of blunders. He mixed up the order of Krook's favorite red wine—meant to be sipped slowly to savor, he downed it in one gulp, his haste and lack of refinement catching Tracy's eye with a flicker of surprise.
When commenting on the food, his words clashed with Krook's usual tastes. Where Krook would use precise, refined terms to describe flavors, Paul could only muster bland, ordinary remarks.
Each mistake was a pebble dropped into a still lake, rippling suspicion through the women's minds. Though they said little, the glances they exchanged betrayed their doubts about this "Krook."
Paul saw it all, and fear grew wild within him. He felt trapped in a dark maze, surrounded by unseen pitfalls. Every step risked sounding an alarm, exposing him fully and plunging him into ruin.
Outside, the storm finally broke, torrential rain hammering the windows as if trying to shatter the glass and invade the tension-filled dining room.
The clamor of the rain seemed to play a desperate symphony to Paul's mounting panic, leaving him ever more unsettled in this deceptively warm yet peril-laden dinner.