It was Sunday. Kerill had no work, and the children had no classes, which meant Charlene was busier than usual taking care of everyone.
Kerill woke up close to noon. The first thing his eyes searched for was Charlene—but she was nowhere to be found in any corner of the house.
"Where the hell is she?" he muttered, irritation creeping in. An unwanted thought crossed his mind—that she might be with his brother.
"Wait… why am I even looking for that woman?" he scoffed.
Yet his feet betrayed him, leading him straight to Charlene's bedroom. He frowned at himself for being there, but he entered anyway. Charlene wasn't inside, though a fresh set of clothes lay neatly on the bed. The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom.
He was about to leave when her phone suddenly rang on the bed. Curiosity got the better of him. He glanced at the screen—and his brows immediately furrowed when he saw the caller.
Black.
Are you free tomorrow? the message read.
Without hesitation, Kerill picked up the phone. It wasn't locked. He replied.
No.
So please stop bothering me.
Still not satisfied, he added more.
You're annoying.
I don't want to see you anymore.
You're not even that handsome. My husband is way more handsome than you.
His fingers struck the screen so hard it nearly cracked. He didn't even realize how furious he'd become.
Is this really you, Charlene? Black replied.
Kerill froze. He snapped out of it, left the message on read, and tossed the phone back onto the bed just as Charlene stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel.
She gasped when she saw him inside her room.
"What are you doing here?"
"I—I… I—" He stammered, suddenly at a loss for words. Then, blurting it out, he said, "I want you to cook for me."
Charlene frowned. "That's it?" she asked flatly, then turned away. "Bye."
She shook her head in confusion. But as she approached the bed, she noticed her phone had been moved. She grabbed it and read the messages Kerill had sent to Black. Her confusion deepened.
After getting dressed, she went down to the kitchen—and stopped short in shock. The table was overflowing with vegetables, spices, and all kinds of meat: pork, chicken, and beef.
"What's all this?" she asked Manang Dores.
"I don't know, Ma'am. Sir had Saviel buy everything earlier. He said you'd be cooking," the older woman explained.
"Me?" Charlene asked, pointing at herself.
"Oh dear," one of the helpers whispered teasingly, "maybe Sir got jealous because you always cook for Sir Black."
Charlene rolled her eyes. "Impossible," she muttered.
The room fell silent when the man they were talking about walked in.
"Here." Kerill handed Charlene a piece of paper.
"What's this?" she asked.
"My favorite dishes. I want you to cook all of them," he said casually.
Charlene's mouth fell open as she scanned the list. "This is a lot. Is there a special occasion?"
"No."
"Then why so many?"
"I'm hungry."
She stared at him. "Did you starve for days or something?"
Kerill frowned. "Why are you complaining so much? You're used to this, aren't you? You always cook when you have visitors in my house," he said, emphasizing the last words.
Then he turned his back and walked away.
Charlene sighed deeply. There was nothing she could do but comply. She knew refusing would only lead to another argument.
With the help of the household staff, they started cooking early—countless dishes, from main courses to sweets and desserts.
Charlene was exhausted. Kerill kept coming back to the kitchen, tasting everything.
"Too spicy."
"Too sweet."
"Too bland. Too greasy."
"Why can't you just do it right?"
Charlene clenched her eyes shut before finally facing him. "Why don't you cook it yourself?"
"Are you raising your voice at me?" Kerill snapped.
"Yes! Because you've been complaining nonstop. We're exhausted!"
"So you can get tired? Funny. I never saw that when you cooked for my stepbrother."
Charlene froze. "So this is about Black? What exactly is your problem with him?"
"None," Kerill said coldly. "And besides, this is your responsibility as my wife, isn't it?"
"You—" She stopped herself, lowering the fork in her hand. "Just leave."
Thankfully, he did. Charlene finally breathed easier.
The cooking lasted more than six hours. By the time they were done, her hands—and everyone else's—ached from exhaustion.
She slammed the final dish onto the table where Kerill was already seated. "Enjoy," she said, forcing a smile.
"I'm not sure I will."
Charlene rolled her eyes, turned away, and muttered under her breath, "I hope you choke."