The Million-Dollar Heart by Rebecca Ryan

Sasha was about to add more to the conversation when Vivienne's gaze landed on the cake in her hand.

She hadn't tried this flavor before, and though she was sure it wouldn't beat a slice of good old apple pie, being picky at a moment like this seemed downright immature.

Sasha quickly hid it behind her back.

She'd already had her share, why was she still eyeing hers? Seeing Arthur wouldn't be out of the kitchen anytsoon, Sasha shot Percival a look, silently assigning him a critical mission. To keep watch.

As the two of them were enjoying their sneaky treat, Arthur emerged from the kitchen, a tray in hand, his voice booming excitedly from afar, "Honey, darling, breakfast is served! Today we've got beef stew with homemade biscuits..." Sasha nearly choked.

Vivienne decisively swallowed her last bite.

Percival calmly stepped forward to greet Arthur, cleverly blocking his view.

"Who let you in?" Arthur frowned, clearly displeased, “And keep it down. My daughter isn't married to you yet; don't get too cozy." Arthur took a step towards Sasha and Vivienne's direction.

Percival tried to intervene again, but Sasha had alreadye forward, crumbs still lingering at the corner of her mouth.

Arthur noticed immediately and leaned in, curious, "Honey, what did you eat?" Caught off guard, Sasha pursed her lips, trying to sound casual, “...I was just really hungry, had a biscuit." Arthur was filled with guilt, blaming his slow pace for leaving his wife famished.

"Honey, breakfast is ready, let's go eat.

Then, the cake box Sasha had been hiding fell from behind the chair, rolling to Arthur's feet.

Vivienne: It wasn't on purpose! Arthur froze, looking at Sasha with a mix of hurt and betrayal, "Honey, you..." Sasha shot Vivienne a glare before soothing Arthur, “Hubby, letexplain. You have to believe in yourself; your cooking is truly a gift. I was just..." In a crucial moment, Percival took the blame, “It's not the master's fault. I accidentally made too much and wanted the master to give it a taste." Arthur's annoyance immediately shifted towards Percival.

"I know what my wife likes, and I'll cook it for her. You, mind your own business.e on, wife and daughter, let's go in." Percival's casual remark stopped them in their tracks, "No offense, but perhaps, the dishes you make aren't exactly to the master's and Vivienne's taste." Arthur paused, turning with a cold expression, "What do you mean?" Percival sincerely stated, "They're not good!" Arthur's face darkened, "Are you saying you're better than me?" Percival just smiled, not contradicting the statement.

Knowing he was being provoked, Arthur couldn't let it slide. Not in front of his wife and daughter.

"Then let's have apetition!" Sasha quickly interjected, aware of her husband's culinary skills-or lack thereof.

The praises were hers alone to give, "Let's not, dear. Percival is my apprentice; if word gets out, people will say you're bullying the younger generation." Arthur patted Sasha's hand, reassuring her. He had been practicing.

Sasha thought, precisely because of all the practice, she couldn't bear to tell him the truth.

Percival raised an eyebrow, "You sure you want topete? Just think if you lose..." Arthur, spurred on, cut him off, "Enough talk, let's do this." Arthur scoffed, "Funny, I was thinking the same. If you lose, let's push the wedding to next year." Vivienne: "..." She didn't want to wait till next year.

Standing in front of the kitchen, Arthur and Percival locked eyes.

Arthur asked, "What's the challenge?" V Percival glanced at Vivienne, who was watching confidently, and a smile crept across his face, "Since Vivienne loves pasta, let's make her favorite: hand-pulled noodles." hovels Arthur snorted.

He had learned this specific skill from the Dorian family, a secret technique.

He was sure of his victory.

Both men entered the kitchen, leaving Sasha and Vivienne outside as the judges, exchanging worried glances.

Sasha massaged her forehead, already anticipating the oue.

Vivienne calmly returned to her book, "Mom, instead of worrying here, we might as well think of how to console them later." Sasha shot her a look, "No more bringing people hto bully your father." Vivienne's lips curled up, "It was your husband who started it. Why shouldn't I defend Mr. Wolf? This is poetic justice." Half an hour later, both contestants presented their covered bowls of noodles.

It was a mystery what lay beneath.

Sasha first directed her attention to the bowls in front of Arthur, swallowing hard, vowing not to disparage her husband's efforts. After tentatively tasting a spoonful, Sasha froze.

Arthur panicked, "Honey, what's wrong?" Sasha, astounded, pointed at the bowl, "Hubby, did you really make this? How? It tastes even better than the ones from the diner..." Arthur was over the moon with his wife's praise.

Though unsure if it was indeed his creation, the smile on his face was unstoppable.

Vivienne: "..." Had she not been enduring Arthur's cooking these past days, she might have been fooled by this performance.

Yet, upon tasting, her brows knitted together.

The flavor was identical to Mrs. Cordelia's specialty, down to the preferred soup base with just a hint of black pepper and no unnecessary seasoning.

It was exactly as she had seen in Arthur's notebook, down to the last detail.

Vivienne instinctively glanced at Percival, half expecting it was his doing. But he just shook his head, indicating it wasn't him.

Her gaze then shifted to Arthur, who was eagerly awaiting her verdict. She could hardly believe it.

Could Arthur really have whipped up this culinary masterpiece? What in the world had she been eating the past few days then? Ssort of experimental mishap? It couldn't be possible. Given her own notorious lack of skill in the kitchen, how could Arthur possibly fare any better? Sasha caught Vivienne's skeptical look and lifted her chin defiantly. "Who says my husband can't cook? He just hadn't shown his true skills yet." Vivienne didn't respond, instead she picked up a bowl from the tray Percival was holding.

Taking a big bite, her face nearly turned a shade darker on the spot.

The pasta was undercooked, and the sauce tasted bitter.

Looking up at the man in front of her, Mr. Wolf, Vivienne suddenly understood. "Cough, cough..." mmMwWLlilOfiflO&1 mmMwWLlilOfiflo&1 mmMwWLliI0fiflO&1 mmMwWLlilofiflo&1 mmMwWLliI0fifl0&1 mmMwWLlilOfiflO&1