chapter 2
In the kitchen, Michael had taken off his jacket, revealing a white sweater underneath. I picked out a cute pink apron from the rack and tied it behind his back.
While he was distracted, he held a spatula and studied a recipe on the table with intense concentration, his thick eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed into a rigid line, like he was facing a deadly enemy.
Braised pork hock? Pork belly? What kind of dishes are these? She needs to maintain her figure. She’ll be angry if I make these, but I’ve never cooked before. What if I don’t follow the recipe and it tastes terrible? If I refuse, will she be even more upset? When she gets angry, she thinks about her ex. When she thinks about her ex, she talks about divorce.
My playful expression froze, my eye twitching slightly.
Seriously, I’m not a kettle. I don’t boil with anger every day.
Michael’s mind was going through endless loops, yet his face remained completely impassive. Only a single bead of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead to the tip of his handsome nose.
I stood on tiptoe and gently wiped away his sweat with a tissue. While he was stunned, I took the spatula from his hand.
“It’s OK, I know you can’t cook. How about I cook for you? I’m actually really good at it.”
Michael mumbled, “OK,” in a daze. His eyes slightly widened, but inside he was thinking.
She smells so nice, like osmanthus flowers, similar to the perfume I gave her on her birthday. It was worth buying her best friend that new Maserati just to get advice on that gift. We’ve been married for three years and this is the first time she’s been so affectionate. Could she possibly like me a little bit?
Hearing this, my cooking movements froze.
I glared at the daydreaming Michael, exasperated.
This idiot.
So that explains why Emma suddenly became so generous, buying new cars without hesitation. God, if he had given me that Maserati, I would have been so happy. I might have even kissed him when he gave me that perfume.
He was so awkward about it. First he accidentally left it in the car, then the driver gave it to the butler, passing through countless hands. By the time it reached me, it was already the next day. I thought it was just some unwanted trash someone had left behind.
With a blank face, I added another box of sugar to the braised pork.
Michael helped me, frowning slightly. “You… you already added sugar. It’s going to be very sweet.”
I replied expressionlessly, “It’s fine. You’ll eat it all.”
Maybe the kitchen was too hot, but Michael’s face turned bright red. Then he turned and walked out.
Just when I thought he was angry, I heard his thoughts.
She’s cooking for me for the first time. I can’t disappoint her. I’ll go back to the room for an insulin shot, then come back and eat all the pork she made.
My spatula nearly slipped, almost dropping the entire pan.