The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet (Thalassa and Elowen) novel Chapter 1485

Thalassa spun around, and there was Spencer, sporting a crisp blue shirt and slate-gray slacks, striding toward her with a plump chicken in his grasp.

Relief washed over Thalassa as she greeted him, “Spencer, did you go grocery shopping?”

Spencer?

The name struck Alaric like a hammer to the heart, his steps faltered, and he turned, the carefree smirk wiped clean off his face.

Indeed, Spencer approached, a lively hen clutched in his hand.

Alaric’s gaze fixed on the chicken’s clucking beak, a shiver running down his spine, his skin crawling with goosebumps. Rooted to the spot, paralyzed with dread, he couldn't move an inch.

Since childhood, Alaric had harbored an irrational fear of beaked creatures, chickens most of all!

And now, as fate would have it, Spencer was parading the very object of his phobia. Alaric felt trapped, his blood running cold with alarm.

“Yep, picked up a chicken to make a hearty soup for Hertha—help with her recovery,” Spencer said, reaching Thalassa's side with a gentlemanly smile.

Then, spotting Alaric not too far off, he added, “Mr. Falconer, you missed out on the meal last time. Stay for some chicken soup, will you?”

With that, he lifted the chicken a tad higher, flaunting its quality, hinting at the savory broth it would yield. In a show of good faith, Spencer edged closer to Alaric, chicken in hand.

Confronted with the chicken’s beak, Alaric’s deep-seated fear surfaced. He dodged behind Thalassa, panic-stricken, urging Spencer, “Keep that thing away from me. Take it away!”

Thalassa turned to find Alaric cowering behind her, his complexion ghostly pale.

Thalassa was speechless. She'd never heard of a grown man being terrified of a mere chicken.

Hertha was in stitches when Thalassa relayed the encounter with Alaric. She laughed so hard she doubled over, her infectious cackle filling the room.

“Alaric, afraid of a chicken? That’s just hilarious!” Tears streamed down Hertha’s cheeks as she tried to regain composure. “And here I thought he was so smooth with the ladies. To think he’s got such a weakness—I’ll just have to lock him in a room with a live chicken from the market if I ever need to put him in his place. Imagine the chaos!”

“Easy there, don’t laugh yourself into a concussion,” Thalassa cautioned, noting the intensity of Hertha’s laughter.

“No worries, I can handle it,” Hertha chuckled, dabbing at her tear-streaked face with a tissue.

“Mommy, who’s Alaric? Do you not like him?” Helena toddled over, her big, innocent eyes brimming with curiosity.