How the Ice king Became my Doting Billionaire Husband (Darlin )

Chapter 205 

Indeed, Morwenna couldn’t help but notice Stuart’s frown deepening. 

He towered over the scene before him, observing the floundering fish with the detached curiosity of a god scrutinizing ants. 

The thought of Stuart, with his refined demeanor, engaging in the act of killing a fish was beyond Morwenna’s Imagination. 

Mr. White, seeing Stuart’s silent protest, waved his hand dismissively, “If you can’t do it, then off you go. Don’t block my business.” 

In the next moment, Stuart surprised everyone by grabbing an apron and tying it around his waist. 

The apron, previously adomed by Morwenna with its delicate lace, looked utterly ridiculous on Stuart, more akin to a child’s dress–up than anything else. 

Morwenna, who had been worried about a potential clash between Stuart and Mr. White, couldn’t suppress a laugh at the sight. 

Orson, who had been watching wide–eyed, couldn’t contain himself and turned away, chuckling. 

He had insisted on tagging along, never expecting to witness such a spectacle. 

Yet, Stuart seemed unfazed, his tone indifferent as he asked, “What needs to be done?” 

Mr. White was taken aback by Stuart’s acceptance. Here in Windcharm Villas, home to the elite of Rosefrost Hollow, residents typically looked down on the likes of those who peddled vegetables and fish, let alone engage in their tasks. 

Temporarily dumbstruck, Mr. White finally came to and said, “Start by getting all the fish into the pond, make sure they have enough oxygen, and get everything ready for the customers.” 

Stuart strode forward, lifting the heavy bucket filled with fish. 

Morwenna, moved by the scene, rushed over to help, only to be stopped by Stuart. “Your hand hasn’t healed, no heavy lifting” he stated firmly. 

Orson, trying to suppress his laughter, offered, “I’ll help then!” 

“Stay out of this.” Stuart responded, as he emptied the bucket into the pond. 

Orson, touching his nose and stepping aside, wasn’t really out of the willingness to help: it was Mr. Hetfield who didn’t allow him. 

Mrs. White, somewhat uneasy, tugged at Mr. White’s sleeve, whispering, “Maybe we should let it go. He seems genuinely sorry, no need to make it harder.” 

But Mr. White was unyielding. “Why should we? If Morwenna can do it, why can’t he? 

Mrs. White pondered, then fell silent. 

Morwenna, too, hesitated to speak, but Stuart had agreed. 

The sight of him dressed in his suit, preparing to deal with the fish felt surreal to Morwenna. 

Yet, at this moment, her gaze softened as she watched Stuart pour out the fish, catching one that bounced out in the big splash he caused, frowning as he proceed. 

Stuart, who always seemed as untouchable and ethereal as the moon, wrapped in a layer of soft, unreal light, suddenly felt much more tangible to Morwenna. 

Soon, Stuart had transferred all the fish into the pond, and Mr. and Mrs. White went about their business, setting up their stall for the day. 

Morwenna, after a moment of contemplation, moved to stand beside Stuart 

The market started to buzz with early risers, mainly elderly residents of Windcharm Villas, coming to buy their groceries. This market was something of a relic, fiercely preserved by the seniors as a nod to tradition rather than necessity, given the affluence of Windcharm Villas‘ residents. 

“Give me a trout, an elderly customer requested, eyeing the fish and then Stuart. 

Stuart didn’t move. 

Mr. White, not stepping in to assist, coldly stated, “If the customer wants to buy a fish, and you can’t deliver, then you shouldn’t have agreed to help.” 

Morwenna watched Stuart, believing in him. She knew that if Stuart had committed to this, he would see it through, despite the apparent discomfort he was experiencing.