Chapter 282:

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Kristopher, still leaning into his silence, kept his eyes closed, exuding an air of indifference.

Sensing that pushing Carrie further might backfire, Albin wisely zipped his lips. He wasn’t in the mood to go one against two, especially with Kristopher unlikely to back him up. Forget it. No point in arguing.

Stepping out of the pool, he wrapped himself in a robe and moved to the sofa. “I’m starving. We’ve got ingredients. How about we prepare something to eat?”

Camille sprawled across the sofa and retorted sharply, “Cook it yourself. When did I become your personal chef?”

“I didn’t—”

Before he could continue, the in-house phone interrupted their banter.

Albin answered, and a staff member’s courteous voice filled the line. “Good evening, sir. We’re offering a private buffet in the restaurant just below your villa. The space is exclusively reserved for your party. Our chef stands ready to prepare any dishes you desire.”

“Perfect,” Albin responded, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. “We’ll be down soon. Start with your best offerings.”

As he hung up, he shot Camille a victorious look. “See? Sometimes luck is on my side. Think about food, and dinner materializes.”

In the restaurant

The group arrived in the private dining room, freshly changed into clean attire. A pungent aroma of chili peppers saturated the air. The table was laden with fiery dishes—spicy crawfish, chili-glazed chicken, and an array of mouth-searing plates that promised to bring tears to one’s eyes.

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Albin confronted the chef with characteristic bluntness. “Can we have some milder options? How are we supposed to eat this inferno?”

Kristopher’s gaze drifted momentarily, landing briefly on Carrie.

Camille, impulsive as ever, exclaimed, “Carrie, look! These are all your favorite dishes!”

She linked her arm through Carrie’s, a playful glint in her eye. “Must have been arranged by that old friend of yours.”

Albin, catching the storm brewing in Kristopher’s darkening expression, quickly intervened. “Stop hovering like statues! I’m starving. Let’s eat and talk.”

They settled around the table. Kristopher’s silence hung heavy, dissatisfaction radiating from him.

Carrie selected a fork and offered another to Camille. A plate of spicy beef strips glistening with chili oil sat before her. She speared a piece, tasted it, and declared, “It’s good.”

Kristopher reached for his fork, sampled a piece, and promptly deposited it in the trash with a dismissive gesture. “Overcooked,” he stated flatly. “Tough. The seasoning hasn’t penetrated at all.”

Disdain dripped from every word.

Only then did Carrie remember Kristopher’s own exceptional version of this dish, prepared meticulously in their home kitchen. Sensing his prickliness, she chose to preserve the evening’s harmony.

After a moment’s hesitation, she met his eyes and offered soft praise. “Yours truly did taste better.” It wasn’t mere flattery. Carrie knew Kristopher’s excellence was genuine—he excelled at everything he undertook.

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