If only Phoebe didn’t exist, then no one would vie for Theodore’s affection.

However, the relentless sound of running water from the guest bathroom jolted Vanessa back to a harsh reality: Theodore and Phoebe were the true married couple, and she was just a temp, potentially a heartbeat away from being kicked out. Vanessa clenched her fists, seething inside.

No, she had to remove Phoebe, the glaring obstacle, before she left for the set. What if Theodore’s feelings for Phoebe deepened in the months she’d be gone filming? With this in mind, Vanessa was determined to prove herself, not just to Theodore but also to Mrs. Reynolds, showcasing her homemaking virtues.

“Theodore, your hand is injured, let me cook dinner,” Vanessa volunteered eagerly.

Theodore glanced at her delicate hands and said, “Those hands are for playing the piano. If you’re hungry, I can order takeout.”

“I don’t like takeout. It’s not sanitary,” Vanessa pouted. “Theodore, I know you’re concerned about my hands, but I want to cook for the man I love. Please let me.” Phoebe emerged with damp hair sticking to her face just in time to hear Vanessa’s exaggeratedly sweet voice. She shivered in distaste.

‘The cooing of ‘an old lady’ is unbearable!’

Theodore, overhearing the front door opening from the bathroom, inexplicably softened his voice, “Just don’t overdo it, okay? If you need help, tell me.”

“Not at all, I’m more than happy to,” Vanessa said as she bounced off towards the kitchen.

Passing by Phoebe in the hall, Vanessa gave her a smug smile. “Miss Ziegler, I’ve got dinner covered. You just wait and eat.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes at Vanessa’s presumption. It was just dinner, what was there to boast about?

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the man sitting on the sofa with his back to her, his silhouette emanating cold indifference.

She pursed her lips slightly before knocking and entering the master bedroom.

Mrs. Reynolds had already finished her bath, looking fresh with her cheeks flushed from the steam. She was wearing a hair towel and a facial mask.

“Phoebe, this mask is amazing, though it has a bit of a… funny taste,” Mrs. Reynolds commented, dressed in a new gown Phoebe had picked out for her, which fit perfectly, lending her an air of dignified elegance.

Phoebe grinned, her tone a mix of mischief and affection, “You know, if you like it, I’ve got a few more boxes of that skincare stuff. Take some home. Just let me know when you run out and I’ll drop by with more.” “Really? That’s sweet of you, but I feel like I’m taking advantage,” the other woman replied.

Laughing lightly, Phoebe waved away the concern, “As long as it makes you happy. You can’t put a price on happiness, Mom. You look absolutely stunning in that dress, by the way.”

Every woman loves a compliment, and Mrs. Reynolds was no exception. She beamed, flattered, “Well, it’s all thanks to your good taste.”

“Nonsense, it’s all you, Mom. Your figure, your grace, and your elegance bring that dress to life,” Phoebe cooed playfully.

Her words painted Mrs. Reynolds’ face with joy as she realized it was time for her beauty routine. “Oh look at the time, I need to go wash up,” she said, excusing herself.

Meanwhile, as Phoebe and her mother-in-law shared a moment in the bedroom, Vanessa was rummaging through the refrigerator. The fridge was well-stocked, but her eyes landed on some medication stashed in the fresh produce drawer. Acting on impulse, she slid the drawer open, took out a packet of pills and sniffed it, her senses picking up on the bitter tang even through the packaging.

She frowned, the bitterness sparking her suspicion. Could a health supplement really smell so bitter?

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