Chapter 17: Peculiar Taste

Ethan watched them and a hint of disbelief in his heart. Fearful of being exposed, Stacey clung tightly to Conor's neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm scared. Put me down," Stacey whispered. Conor responded with a suggestive smile, "If you're scared, you should be good." "Stacey is good. Let me go now," Stacey insisted, growing anxious. Damn it, her son was still there! "Too late," Conor said, carrying her out of the room. He took her to her room and set her down. "Clean your face and brush your teeth by yourself before I come back, and then wait for me in bed, understand?" Conor's manner returned to its usual cold and distant state. Stacey nodded. Internally, she was defiant, refusing to comply. Suddenly, Conor reached out to pinch her face. Stacey was shocked. What was he doing? Did he suspect her face was a mask? "It hurts," Stacey complained. Conor lowered his hand, his gaze predatory, "Go freshen up." Stacey gritted her teeth in annoyance. Damn, man, applying so much force, despite the fact she had saved him the previous night. You wait! Stacey walked into the bathroom. Conor turned and headed towards the children's room. Now, father and son could finally have some alone time. Ethan was playing with Lego. He was brilliant. In the short time Conor had been gone, he had already built almost half a spaceship with the Lego blocks. "Did your mommy die?" Conor asked in his cold tone. "You can check it out yourself," Ethan said casually. "What's your surname?" Conor squinted. Ethan paused, glancing sideways, "Young Master Burton, I'm standing right before you. You don't deserve my mommy if you can't figure anything out." Conor raised an eyebrow. Did he look down on him? "How do you know I won't find anything?" Conor shot a meaningful look at him, a hint of chill rising in his eyes. "I'm more worried about you having designs on my mommy. After all, she never mentioned you to me, like you don't exist at all," Ethan retorted disdainfully. A hint of anger arose in Conor's heart. Not towards Ethan, but towards that woman. She didn't even mention him to their son! This was going too far. After all, he was the child's father. "Does this mean she's still alive?" Conor asked, a teasing sparkle in his eye. Ethan just grunted, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer. Looking at Ethan, Conor noticed his clothes were plain but neat and clean. His mother seemed to have taken good care of him. "Now that you're my son, get used to living here as part of the Burton family," Conor declared coolly. "And what's in it for me, staying with the Burtons?" Ethan retorted unhappily. "You get to be the heir," Conor replied coldly. "Who cares?" Ethan scoffed. "You will," Conor asserted confidently. "I'll give you three months. If you can find my mommy and find out my full name, I'll consider being your heir," Ethan huffed, "If you can't figure it out within three months, forget about it." Conor was taken aback. It was surprising that someone would look down on the Burton family fortune. "Deal," Conor extended his little finger. Ethan hesitated, and then hooked his little finger around Conor's, "Deal." "Do you need help changing clothes?" Conor asked Ethan. "No need," Ethan shook his head. He could take care of himself. Conor could see that Ethan was self-reliant. A five-year-old kid enters the Burton family, not crying or making a fuss, and even able to speak to him so calmly. This little one was something else. "That's better," Conor said, "I'll stand here while you freshen up." Ethan had no choice but to comply. His actions were swift and confident, brushing his teeth and washing his face without help. Conor watched him from the doorway, arms crossed. He wondered how his mother had raised him to be so independent. He should be thankful to that woman for not having spoiled their son. After Ethan finished, he climbed into bed himself. Conor approached the bed, preparing to turn off the light, "Do you want a nightlight?" "No, I don't need one," Ethan's voice trembled slightly. Conor chuckled. Despite his bravado, the kid was scared of the dark. "I'm not scared of the dark," Ethan protested, "I'm just not used to this place yet." Conor was impressed by his stubbornness. He turned off the main light, leaving a small bedside lamp on. Ethan visibly relaxed. "Go to sleep," Conor tucked him in. Ethan's cheeks turned a rosy red. All his life, it had been his mommy who tucked him in. This was the first time his daddy played that role. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was happy in his heart. With his eyes shut, he sensed Conor's departure. Conor closed the door behind him, moving to his room. Stacey was already in bed, her mind filled with worry for Ethan. Despite his independence, he was still just a five-year-old boy. As Conor returned, she knew Ethan had settled in for the night. Conor glanced at her, "Still awake?" Stacey quickly lay down. Conor smirked coolly and made his way to the bathroom. Standing before the mirror, he lifted his hand, studying his fingers. He remembered touching Stacey's face - it felt no different from a human's. Was he overthinking? Was her face real? Her eyes were so much like Charlotte's. And when he held Stacey earlier, besides the scent of jasmine from her hair, her body gave off a faint aroma of traditional herbs. Though subtle, he recognized it. Charlotte is a mystery. Stacey, pretending to be native or truly being so. And that woman who vanished six years ago is now appearing again. Conor felt these three were somehow linked. If they were scheming, he was curious about their motive. He was looking forward to it. Coming out of the bathroom, he found Stacey asleep. He slid into bed next to her. Stacey's eyes snapped open, focusing on him. She was used to him sleeping on the couch, leaving the bed to her. Why was he joining her now? "Couples should sleep together," Conor said, his gaze carrying a deeper meaning, "Got it?" Stacey pursed her lips. He wasn't lying, but it felt like he was taking advantage of her innocence. Could it be that Conor had a peculiar taste for ugly women?