Reborn To The Wife of a Billionaire with Disabilities

The grand dining room was cavernous. A ten-meter-long oak table dominated the space, covered in a pristine white linen cloth. Silver candelabras cast flickering, warm light across the crystal glassware.

Eileen followed Harrison into the room. A server immediately pulled out the chair to the right of the head seat.

It was the position of the lady of the house. Eileen didn't hesitate. She sat down smoothly, adjusting her posture. Carlisle maneuvered his wheelchair into the space at the head of the table.

The kitchen staff moved in a synchronized ballet.

The head chef approached Eileen with a silver cloche. He lifted it, revealing a small, sad plate. It contained a handful of dry arugula leaves and three cherry tomatoes, glistening with a microscopic drop of olive oil.

Eileen stared down at the plate. Her stomach cramped violently, letting out a pathetic, audible gurgle.

She lifted her chin. Her eyes bypassed the salad and locked onto the center of the table.

Sitting on a silver platter was a massive Beef Wellington. The golden pastry was perfectly baked. It had just been sliced open, revealing a center of flawless, pink, steaming tenderloin. The rich smell of butter, mushrooms, and roasted meat filled her nostrils.

Carlisle picked up his wine glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her staring at the meat. He saw her throat bob as she swallowed hard. His fingers paused on the stem of the glass.

Eileen reached out and shoved the salad plate away. The porcelain scraped loudly against the table.

She grabbed the heavy silver serving tongs.

The two servers standing nearby froze in shock. They watched as Eileen clamped the tongs around the thickest, center cut of the Beef Wellington. She lifted it, the rich juices dripping onto the tablecloth, and dropped it onto her own bone china plate.

She didn't stop there. She grabbed a serving spoon and scooped a massive mound of creamy, butter-heavy mashed potatoes next to the meat.

Harrison stopped cutting his fish. He stared at her plate, his eyes wide behind his reading glasses.

"Eileen, my dear," Harrison stammered. "That is... quite high in calories."

Eileen picked up her steak knife and fork. She sliced through the pastry and the tender meat. She dragged the piece through the dark truffle jus and shoved it into her mouth.

She closed her eyes. A soft, involuntary moan of pure pleasure vibrated in her throat.

She opened her eyes and looked at Harrison, her cheeks bulging slightly as she chewed.

"Screw the Hollywood diet," she mumbled through the food. "I want to actually enjoy being alive."

Harrison blinked. Then, a booming laugh erupted from his chest. He slapped his hand on the table, making the silverware rattle. "Good! Good! Young people should eat! You're too thin anyway!"

Carlisle slowly lowered his wine glass.

He stared at her. He watched her chew, watched the way she unapologetically wiped a drop of sauce from her bottom lip with her thumb. The vain, neurotic woman who used to faint from starvation to fit into a size zero dress was completely gone.

Eileen felt his heavy gaze.

She swallowed her food. She cut another piece of the tenderloin, making sure it had a perfect ratio of meat and pastry.

She stabbed it with her silver fork. She leaned across the corner of the table, extending her arm, and held the bite of food directly in front of Carlisle's lips.

Carlisle's body violently recoiled.

He threw himself back against his chair. His eyes turned into chips of ice. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Move it," he ordered. The words were razor blades.

The room went dead silent. The servers stopped breathing. Harrison froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

Eileen didn't blush. She didn't look embarrassed.

She simply shrugged her shoulders. She rotated her wrist, brought the fork back to her own mouth, and ate the piece of meat herself.

"Your loss," she mumbled, chewing happily.

The crushing tension in the room evaporated instantly. Her absolute lack of shame defused the bomb.

Carlisle stared at her lips, watching them move as she chewed. His Adam's apple bobbed once. He looked down at his own plate and picked up his knife, his grip white-knuckled.

The dinner proceeded. Eileen decimated two massive slices of the Wellington and scraped her potato bowl clean.

When the servers cleared the plates and poured the black tea, Eileen picked up her white napkin. She dabbed the corners of her mouth and stood up.

She walked over to Harrison and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a firm hug. "Thank you for the food, Grandpa. It was amazing."

She pulled back and turned to Carlisle.

The playful, relaxed aura vanished. Her eyes hardened, turning sharp and clear.

"I need to go to Aura Entertainment," she announced, her voice flat and businesslike. "I have a mess to clean up."

Harrison frowned, worry creeping back into his eyes. "Tonight? The paparazzi are swarming the city."

"There is a tumor in my team," Eileen said coldly. "If I don't cut it out tonight, it will kill me tomorrow."

Carlisle looked at her. He saw the absolute resolve in her posture.

He turned his head slightly toward the head butler. "Ainsworth. Have the Team One security detail escort the Madam to the agency."

The word 'Madam' hung in the air. It carried a heavy, undeniable weight of authority.

Eileen's heart skipped a beat. She looked at Carlisle, giving him a single, firm nod of gratitude.

She turned on her heel and marched out of the dining room. Her steps were fast and purposeful, carrying her out of the warm light and into the dark night.