Chapter 395

The man gave a quick nod. "Understood."

Even without her saying it, he could tell she was exhausted. Of course, they could head home.

Yet, when they arrived, the warm comfort Sophia had imagined—hot soup, a welcoming atmosphere—was nowhere to be found.

It was 2:30 in the afternoon. Normally, Eleanor Quinton would be tidying up the house at this hour.

But today, Eleanor was missing.

A quick phone call revealed the truth: Eleanor was currently at the amusement park, accompanying Lily, the little princess of the Blackwood family.

When Ethan’s call came through, Eleanor’s voice trembled with panic. "M-Mr. Blackwood… I had no idea you’d return this early. You didn’t mention anything when you left… Nathan said you and Mrs. Blackwood wouldn’t be back for lunch. Then he called and insisted I accompany Lily. He said she needed a woman with her when she uses the restroom."

"I see. Stay with her." Ethan’s response was clipped.

Hanging up, he immediately dialed Nathan. On the other end, Nathan was holding Lily’s hand as she slid down a towering spiral slide. Seeing Ethan’s name flash on his screen, Nathan answered with a smug, self-congratulatory tone.

"Mr. Blackwood, don’t I deserve some praise today? Wasn’t I considerate? I knew you’d be out all day—training, yes, but also… ahem… enjoying some quality time with Mrs. Blackwood—"

Ethan cut him off. "Find a temporary chef. Eleanor needs a replacement."

"Right away, sir! I’ll handle it immediately. But, uh… about the salary…?"

"Take it from your own paycheck. Pay whatever you deem appropriate." Ethan’s tone was icy.

Nathan: "…"

The line went dead.

Ethan turned to Sophia. "You’ll cook."

Sophia blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You. Cook." He repeated, slower this time.

Sophia stared. He wanted her to cook?

She was no match for Eleanor’s culinary skills. At best, she could whip up a basic noodle dish—something she’d survived on during her school days, using an electric kettle to boil water and tossing in whatever scraps she had.

Later, in Willowbrook County, Noah had often taken over the kitchen, leaving her skills barely passable.

But Ethan? He had the palate of a gourmet.

Sophia hesitated. "You’d actually eat what I make?"

He shot her an impatient look. "Didn’t I survive your cooking six years ago? If I won’t eat what my wife makes, whose food should I eat?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Without another word, she fled to the kitchen.

The fridge was stocked with every ingredient imaginable, but her repertoire was limited. Fancy dishes like herbal chicken soup, cumin lamb, or steamed crab were beyond her.

Then she spotted a bream—the same kind she’d often eaten in Willowbrook.

After a messy struggle to clean and prepare it, she attempted to recreate the flavors she remembered. She stir-fried shredded potatoes, sautéed broccoli, and whipped up a simple ham-and-egg soup.

Three dishes and one soup—barely presentable.

Ethan eyed the fish skeptically. "You made this?"

Sophia nodded. "Yes." She thought it looked decent enough.

He took a bite—and froze.

Sophia’s stomach twisted. "What’s wrong?"

Instead of answering, he gave her an unreadable look, then pulled the entire plate toward himself, leaving her no share.

Sophia: "…"

Unbelievable.

She’d known him to be cold, ruthless, domineering.

But now she could add food thief to the list.

She had cooked that fish! Why couldn’t she have any?

By the time he finished, only bones and sauce remained. And he’d devoured two bowls of rice alongside it.

Wiping sweat from his brow—had the fish been that spicy?—he leaned back, satisfied. "I’m going to shower. Bring me my clothes afterward."

Sophia mumbled an agreement.

She had been the one starving earlier, yet she’d barely eaten.

Curious, she dipped a chopstick into the leftover sauce and tasted it.

Her eyes widened.

Salt. So much salt. And enough spice to set her mouth on fire.

No wonder he’d sweated through the meal. No wonder he’d gulped down so much water and rice.

And yet… he’d eaten every bite.

A warmth spread through her chest.

After a rushed meal, she cleared the table, then fetched his sapphire-blue loungewear. Standing outside the bathroom, she hesitated. The sound of running water made her pause.

"Come in," his voice commanded.

Sophia startled. "Huh?"

"How am I supposed to dress if you don’t?"

Steeling herself, she stepped inside. The steam was thick, obscuring her vision. She kept her gaze down—until she collided with a solid, damp chest.

Her eyes lifted. His met hers.

Sophia’s face burned.

She’d never blushed so much in her life. Six years ago, she could count her flustered moments on one hand. Now? It was a daily occurrence.

Ethan smirked. "It’s not like you haven’t seen me before."

Sophia shoved the clothes at him. "Here. I’ll—I’ll go."

"No gratitude?"

"Th-thank you," she stammered. "For teaching me to drive. For… eating that fish."

His voice cooled. "Could you be less sincere?"

Sophia swallowed. "How… how would you like me to thank you?"

"Help me dress."