Married To My Ex's Brother, Reborn Miraculously
Chapter 73: Allergic to seafood

Chapter 73: Allergic to seafood

By the time Augustine emerged and entered the dining area, the rich aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air. Anne had arranged the dishes with care, and the sight of the lavish meal made him pause.

At the center of the table was a butter garlic lobster, glistening under the warm lights and looking delicious. Beside it, a plate of spicy shrimp stir-fry, a bowl of creamy garlic parmesan chicken pasta, and a side of fluffy coconut rice complemented the spread.

A vibrant garden salad, with crisp lettuce, juicy cherry tomatoes, thinly sliced cucumbers, and sweet bell peppers, added a fresh touch to the feast.

Anne beamed as she noticed his reaction. "I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I prepared both chicken and seafood," she said, her eyes bright with excitement. "I hope you’ll enjoy it."

Augustine hesitated for a split second. ’She doesn’t know I’m allergic to seafood.’

But seeing her enthusiastic expression, he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her.

"I like whatever you cook," he said with a smile. "But you didn’t have to go through so much trouble."

Anne chuckled. "I wanted to. You have helped me so much—saving me more than once, even giving me a job opportunity—but I never properly thanked you. And that night, when I burned the food, I felt terrible. So, tonight, I wanted to cook something that would make you happy."

His expression softened. "I appreciate it. I can’t wait to taste the food. Let’s eat."

They took their seats across from each other. Augustine carefully sampled the dishes—everything except the shrimp and lobster. He took a bite of the pasta, savoring the creamy, rich flavor.

"Mm..." He closed his eyes briefly, nodding in approval. "This is delicious. I didn’t know you could cook this well." He smirked and helped himself to another spoonful.

As he glanced at her, he noticed she wasn’t eating. Instead, she idly poked at her salad, her expression distant and troubled.

Augustine’s brows knitted together as he set his spoon down. He suspected she was still dwelling on the afternoon’s events. "Why aren’t you eating? Are you still upset?"

Anne shook her head. She wasn’t upset—she was concerned. His words about going to the family mansion and meeting his grandfather had been weighing on her mind. Doubts lingered, and she couldn’t stop herself from voicing them.

"You’ve seen the chaos in my life," she said softly, lifting her gaze to meet his. "I’m an orphan. My foster parents are from a humble background. My father is in a coma. And my mother... you’ve seen how she treats me. Do you really think I’m worthy of you? Will your grandfather ever accept me as your wife?"

Augustine’s expression darkened, his mood turning somber. He might have shared blood ties with the Beaumonts, but he never truly considered himself part of that family.

"I chose you as my wife—not my family, not my grandfather," he stated firmly. "Their approval is irrelevant to me. I do what I want, and no one else’s opinion matters. We are legally married, and nothing can change that."

Relief washed over Anne. Whatever doubts had been clouding her mind, his words dispelled them completely. She believed in Augustine—she knew he would never betray her.

She grinned, her eyes shining with confidence. "Try this," she said, placing a few shrimp onto his plate.

Augustine glanced down, momentarily frozen. ’This is bad.’ He hesitated. But meeting her eager gaze, he found himself unable to refuse.

"You really like seafood, don’t you?" he asked with a small, forced smile.

Anne nodded enthusiastically. "I love it—whether it’s lobster, shrimp, or salmon. It’s my favorite." She rested her chin on her hand, her eyes shining with delight.

He swallowed, already feeling a faint itch on his back. But he picked up a shrimp and popped it into his mouth, chewing while keeping his expression neutral.

Anne, oblivious to his hesitation, grinned even wider, satisfied to see him enjoy the meal. "Eat more," she encouraged, pushing the platter of lobster toward him.

Augustine’s chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe properly. ’If I eat more, I’ll collapse,’ he thought. But he didn’t want to alarm her.

"I’m full," he said, keeping his tone even. "I have a meeting to attend." He rose from his chair swiftly, trying hard not to show any sign of discomfort. "Sorry, I can’t help with the cleanup."

"Don’t worry about it. Focus on your work," she assured him.

With a brief nod, Augustine turned and hurried to his room, his face already flushed, his body itching all over. As soon as he shut the door, he dialed Gustave’s number.

The call connected after a few rings.

"Come get me," Augustine rasped, his breathing uneven. "I ate seafood."

Gustave’s voice shot up in alarm. "What? Are you insane? You know you are allergic to sea food—why the hell did you eat it?"

"Anne made it with so much effort... I couldn’t refuse," Augustine murmured, struggling to loosen his tie.

On the other end, Gustave was already rushing out of his apartment. "Hold on, I’m on my way."

Augustine barely heard him as he frantically unbuttoned his shirt, scratching at his burning skin. His lips were swelling, and his eyelids felt heavy.

"Where is the damn medicine?"

He rummaged through the cabinet, his fingers trembling. Finally, his hand closed around a small vial. He fumbled with the cap, popping out a tablet and tossing it into his mouth. Grabbing a glass of water from the side table, he gulped it down before collapsing onto the bed.

’Thankfully, Anne doesn’t sleep in the same room.’

He breathed out a long sigh. If she had seen him like this, she would have panicked.

After a few minutes, the pressure in his chest eased slightly, and his breathing steadied. But the itching refused to subside. His face was still swollen, his lips tender and puffy. Just then, his phone buzzed.

Gustave.

"I’m outside," he informed him.

Summoning the last of his strength, Augustine staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the door. Keeping his head low, he moved quickly, but just as he reached for the handle, Anne’s voice stopped him.

"Where are you going at this hour?"

His back stiffened. ’Damn it.’ He grimaced.

Without turning around, he replied curtly, "An urgent matter at work. I need to go. Don’t wait for me."

Before she could question him further, he stormed out, shutting the door behind him.

Anne stood frozen, blinking in confusion. "An urgent matter...?" she murmured. Though she hadn’t seen his face, something about his posture, his clipped tone, had unsettled her. A frown creased her brow.

"Why did he seem so tense?"

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