The clinking of silverware had long faded, replaced by that uneasy silence that lingered when everyone was too proud to acknowledge what had just impressed them. The table still smelled faintly of truffle oil and garlic butter, the kind of aroma that wrapped itself around the senses and refused to let go.Ruth dabbed delicately at her lips with a napkin, her expression a practiced mixture of grace and restraint. “Well,” she said finally, her tone sharp enough to slice through the tension. “That was… edible.”Alora glanced at her mother, half-expecting her to burst into laughter. But Ruth didn’t. Instead, she seemed conflicted—her brows furrowed, her fingers tapping lightly against her wine glass. The food had been too good. The flavors danced on her tongue like they belonged to a professional kitchen, not a cramped apartment dining room.Sasha, however, was quick to take the moment for herself. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, eyeing Adrian with that familiar look of

The air in the apartment turned thick, like the room itself had taken a deep breath and was holding it in.Ben leaned forward, brow furrowed. “Ruth… is that true? What Adrian said about your restaurant?”He tried to keep his tone neutral, but there was unease in his voice — the kind that comes from sensing something ugly beneath the surface.Ruth snapped her head toward him, outrage flashing across her face. “Are you seriously asking me that? Ben! You think I’d stoop that low?” Her voice cracked, rising with practiced indignation. “Of course it’s a lie. That man is blaspheming my business, trying to ruin my reputation because I offered him work and he’s too arrogant to accept it!”Sasha gasped, clutching her chest. “Adrian!” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. “How dare you speak that way to someone who only wanted to help?”Before Helen could react, Sasha’s hand lashed out. The slap echoed across the room — sharp, cutting through the tense air like the crack of a whip.SMACK!!

Vanessa Lang walked into Lang Enterprises looking and feeling like a million dollars. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, her perfume trailed like success itself, and the entire office seemed to hold its breath. Cameras flashed. Phones lifted discreetly. The new face of Crestmoor Holdings had arrived.Whispers followed her through the hallway—words like unstoppable, genius, queen. Everyone had heard the news: Vanessa Lang had sealed the Crestmoor partnership with the Cross family. After weeks of negotiation, setbacks, and whispers of disaster, she’d turned it all around and come out on top.Her assistant nearly tripped trying to hand her a morning report. “Ma’am, congratulations! The Cross press team already confirmed your name on the partnership list and once signed, you are… well, a big woman.”Vanessa accepted it with a calm smile, pretending she hadn’t waited her entire life for this moment. Inside, her chest swelled with triumph. She had to open her legs for this opportunity,

Mr. Lin’s jaw tightened. His hands, the same hands that had once cooked banquets for weddings and festivals, now shook from a mixture of anger and humiliation. But he swallowed it. Pride wouldn’t feed his workers or pay the bills.“Please, sir,” he said softly, bending down to pick up the bowl himself.The man chuckled darkly. “Pathetic. Maybe I’ll buy this dump just to tear it down. Put up a parking lot. I hear old cooks like you retire quietly when you’ve got nowhere to work.”A murmur rippled through the customers. Someone whispered, “That’s Mr. Warren Zhao —the investor who owns half the food plazas downtown.” Another added, “He’s ruthless. He sues anyone who crosses him.”Warren heard them and smiled like a wolf. “You all hear that? I am ruthless. That’s how success works. You small-timers think loyalty and kindness pay bills? Wrong. Only power does.”Mr. Lin straightened slowly, his back stiff and aching as he set the broken bowl gently on the counter. The shards clinked against

Adrian’s reply was almost bored, as if he’d been having this exact conversation a thousand times and this version was merely another draft. “You have anger issues, Warren,” he said, quiet, cutting. “You think the world is solved by fists and fiends. There are better fights to pick — ones that require skill, restraint, and a palate.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “You said you’re the best chef in the city.”“I am.”“Then prove it.”The words hit like a gong. The entire room froze.Warren blinked. “What?”“Let’s settle it properly,” Adrian said. “You claim to be the best chef? Fine. Compete. You cook. I cook. Let everyone here decide which of us actually deserves to be called a chef.”For a second, there was nothing — and then Warren exploded in laughter, throwing his head back. His guards joined in, echoing his laughter like hyenas.“Nah, this guy is officially crazy.”“Who let him out of his cage? He not only disrespects Chef Warren, but he challenges him to a competition."“This woul