Chapter 2

Looking into Natalie’s bewildered eyes right now, I didn't bother explaining myself.

In her world, only multimillion-dollar cash flows mattered anymore.

And as for Leo, he couldn't care less about me.

Bred in the cradle of elitism, he had fantasized more than once about having a more formidable father—a tycoon who shook the business world, not a man who enjoyed lingering by a stove.

Only in the bright morning sunlight did Natalie finally notice the burn marks on my arm.

She called Leo over:

"Your father got hurt last night. Go apologize and comfort him."

Leo was a champion in junior speech competitions, charismatic and articulate, yet in front of me, he never deigned to speak.

I grew up without a father. I naively believed that pouring endless warmth into my child would earn his love in return.

Turns out, I didn't have that magic touch.

Leo merely stared at me with cold, detached eyes. Aside from the babbling baby sounds of his toddler years, he had stopped calling me dad long ago.

"You don't deserve to be my dad."

Natalie playfully tapped his nose, as if that were punishment enough.

"The old apartment is a dump. The legal paperwork will take a while, so you can stay here for now," she said casually.

"Don't you love that high-end cookware set I bought you? It's too heavy to move anyway."

I had already packed my things the night before. Just a single suitcase.

"If no one's using the cookware, throw it out."

After saying that, a bitter smile crept onto my face. The Vance family had their meals planned, prepped, and delivered by private culinary teams.

If it weren’t for me, this mansion wouldn't even need a kitchen, let alone an absurdly expensive set of chef's knives.

"Are you heading to the old flat?"

"I'll have Thomas drive you."

"No need," I said, looking at mother and son with a distant smile.

"Both of you have extensive food allergies. Make sure to have the family doctor run an allergen panel and brief the chefs."

With that, I turned on my heel and walked out. I didn't look back at the two people I had once loved more than life itself.

I didn't head straight to the old apartment.

Instead, I drove to the orphanage—the place that raised me from nothing.

Natalie and I had once promised to visit together. But the Vance family felt the orphanage was a stain on their reputation, so the trip was postponed indefinitely.

Over the years, I had quietly donated a portion of my book royalties here. The moment I walked through the iron gates, Director Martha recognized me.

She didn't know about the divorce. She took my hands, reminiscing about the old days.

Natalie and I had grown up here side by side; she was a year younger than me, both of us scrawny and small back then.

Director Martha pointed toward the back kitchen, laughing as she remembered how I used to stand on my tiptoes, watching the cook and begging to stir the pots.

Natalie hated garlic, but orphanages didn't cater to picky eaters. So whenever I was allowed near the stove, I secretly made sure not a single clove touched her bowl.

Listening to Martha’s fond memories, a spark ignited inside me. I volunteered to cook lunch for the kids today.

Chopping fresh vegetables, simmering hearty broth over the fire, I was soon surrounded by a swarm of wide-eyed kids chirping with joy:

"Mister Theo cooking is so cool!"

"It smells so good! I want to be a master chef when I grow up too! I'm giving you ten stars!"

Bathed in their innocent praises, my mind drifted back to the first time I met Natalie's wealthy parents. She had been far more nervous than I was.

When they learned I was a freelance writer whose favorite hobby was cooking, their disdain was barely contained beneath their high-society etiquette.

Her father had sneered coldly:

"Men of real stature build empires; only the useless play house in the kitchen."

Word traveled fast in their elite circle. Suddenly, Natalie had an endless swarm of socialite friends.

Every time someone visited the penthouse and saw me in the kitchen, they would mockingly smirk at Natalie:

"Your husband is truly a rare breed. He actually cooks like a maid."

Julian Sterling would furrow his brows in faux sympathy:

"Natalie, doesn't he smell like grease all the time? How do you even stand sleeping in the same bed?"

After enough whispered jokes, Natalie's pride began to crack.

Still trying to preserve my dignity back then, she gently told me:

"When friends come over, let the hired help handle the food."

"It's not like the Vance family can't afford a private chef."

Leo absorbed every word like a sponge:

"My dad isn't some smelly kitchen maid."

"You're embarrassing me. A real father is supposed to be a superhero."