Each of Joelle's tears, shed in awe, felt like a direct affirmation of Raymond's worth, deepening his infatuation.

It might have been ages since a woman stirred such emotions in him.

Raymond had toyed with the idea of a cross-cultural romance leading to marriage with Joelle on several occasions.

"Why has she blacklisted me? Why.."

Slumped on the waterbed, Raymond mulled over this question, unable to shake off his feelings of dejection and heartbreak.

Joelle had cut off all contact with him, her phone number now unreachable.

Raymond found himself completely cut off from her.

Hours later, hunger nudged Raymond out of his stupor.

He rose reluctantly from the waterbed and shuffled toward the refrigerator, always stocked with an array of imported delicacies and beverages.

Upon opening the fridge, Raymond's gaze skipped past the lavish offerings. Instead, he searched until he found a clumsily wrapped rice pudding.

This wasn't just any rice pudding. Joelle had made it after hearing about its storied past.

Though her culinary skills were lacking, and the pudding's appearance was somewhat uneven, Raymond had found her efforts endearing, even moving.

Her attempt at cooking had even spurred thoughts of marrying her.

"Is this the last one?" Raymond whispered to himself, holding the rice pudding.

“It's crafted from high-end ham. Had I known things would turn out like this, I wouldn't have shared so much of these puddings on Joelle's advice..."

He unwrapped the pudding and took a hesitant bite.

"Ugh, it's cold!"

He realized belatedly that it had just come out of the fridge, hence its chill.

Without a kitchen in the suite, but fortunately with a microwave, Raymond placed the pudding on a small plate and warmed it up, his thoughts Lingering on Joelle.

For a long time afterward, the mystery of why Joelle had left haunted Raymond.

What he remained unaware of was the existence of a subtle poison, effective only on frail, elderly individuals.

A black car, reminiscent of those used by corporate leaders, glided to a halt outside the gate of the villa where Raymond had placed his father.

Two figures emerged from the car, one leading and the other following.

The man, in his sixties, had neatly combed hair, dyed a shade of black that seemed at odds with his age.