The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

In the serene interlude afforded by Sabina's absence, I assembled a bountiful array of beverages within the heart of the employee kitchen. Two trays bearing ceramic mugs and packet-bought biscuits stood poised to quench the thirst of the hardworking contractors.

"You're a diamond." A grin split the man's dust-caked face as he grabbed a mug of steamy coffee. "Keep conjuring up this magic, and we'll finish this building before the next heat wave."

"Diamond? More like a sugar fairy stuck in the middle of a concrete jungle," I joked, leaving the tray of beverages on the wall for the rest of the appreciative workers. "Let's hope this caffeine kick does not turn you guys into demolition derby demons on your lunch break."

Armed with a sponge and a questionable sense of humour, I tackled the kitchen, the last frontier in the battle against the morning's pandemonium.

Clean dishes stacked like a wobbly tower of victory on the draining board, cupboards surrendered their clutter to the bin, and the fridge—well, let's say it's no longer haunted by the ghost of last week's takeout containers (do not ask about the freezer).

Having completed my duties in the employee's kitchen, with everything smelling like fresh lemon, I ascended to the upper level in accordance with Mrs Ross's request for the household laundry.

My attention was drawn to a bedroom at the corridor's terminus, secured by a lock, which I presumed to be the shared quarters of Sabina and Jack.

Respecting Mr and Mrs Ross' privacy, I proceeded with utmost discretion into the small yet cosy kitchen to tackle the next job of sorting and loading dirty clothes into the washing machine, followed by the damp, laundered items into the tumble dryer.

While Sabina did not explicitly solicit my assistance, the unmistakable disorder within the flat, suggestive of potential domestic challenges, awoke a compassionate urge to lend a hand.

With a delicate balance between helpfulness and respecting boundaries, I initiated a systematic restoration of the living area, kitchen, hallway, bathroom, and spare bedroom.

The tidying mission demanded significant time and meticulous organising, but the culminating sense of serenity was undeniably gratifying.

I knew she was tired, stressed and run down. I wanted to be supportive, regardless of the repercussions.

The absence of comestibles within the kitchen's storage spaces was disconcerting, and the barrenness of the refrigerator and freezer further compounded apprehension.

While initially considering the prospect of minimalist dietary habits, the presence of letters from debt collectors on the windowsill implied a more dire explanation.

In light of the store's ongoing refurbishment and Mr Ross's documented deterioration of health, the added strain of financial distress appeared to be an urgent cause for concern.

Arranging the neglected debt collection letters on the kitchen counter, I efficiently captured images of each document with my phone, noting reference numbers and outstanding balances.

After securely storing this information, I returned the letters to their original place and accessed a grocery delivery app to order essentials.

Lacking access to their customary shopping list, I made a selection of groceries. Essential items formed the foundation, augmented by an assortment of fruits, vegetables, meats, and spices.

Pantry staples such as pasta, rice, and canned goods were prioritised, while the refrigerator shelves received a replenishment of milk, butter, eggs, juice, deli meat, and salad greens.