Chapter 1

Natalie Vance and I grew up together in the same orphanage.

From childhood companions to lovers, our bond was supposed to last a lifetime.

Shortly after she gave birth to our son, her biological parents found her. Overnight, she became the sole heiress to the ultra-wealthy Vance family.

Our son was immediately placed into elite private tutoring, and his last name was stripped away and replaced with Vance.

Years later, when I handed Natalie the divorce papers, she barely looked up.

Irritated, she asked me why.

I answered calmly:

"Because last night, the dinner I cooked went cold."

"You're walking away with nothing?"

"Don't be impulsive, Theo. Leo is never going with you."

Natalie’s eyes never drifted from her phone screen. Her company’s IPO was right around the corner.

I used to feel so proud of how far she had come. Now, all that was left between us was shattered glass.

"I give up custody of Leo."

"Before we got married, we only had that tiny apartment in the old neighborhood. That's the only thing I'm keeping."

At the mention of that cramped little flat where we once huddled together, Natalie’s brow softened slightly.

"Are you still mad that Julian Sterling drove me home last night? He’s just a business partner."

Right. A "partner" who knew full well she was married, yet pursued her relentlessly without shame.

I stayed silent, just looking at her.

It had been a long time since I’d had the chance to look at her this closely.

Her makeup was flawless, and the pink diamond studs in her ears cost more than our combined expenses for months back then.

Just a few years, and everything had changed.

Seeing me shake my head, she asked with growing impatience, "Why are you doing this?"

I replied softly:

"Because last night, the dinner I cooked went cold."

Before Natalie was reclaimed by the Vance family, I was a full-time fiction writer. My only real passion outside writing was cooking.

She majored in finance. In those early days, the hours were brutal and the pay was miserable; she frequently skipped meals.

Every single day, I packed fresh, hot lunches and brought them to her office. She used to hold my hands and tell me it was the best food in the world.

Then the Vance family found her. She insisted on keeping her past, and she swore she would never leave me.

I continued doing what I had always done, preparing three warm meals for her every day.

During that first year of luxury, she swore she wanted to eat my cooking for the rest of her life.

Yet just a few years later, she came home reeking of alcohol, draped over another man's shoulder.

I had taken her from Julian's arms, urging her to eat something warm to settle her stomach.

She looked down at the dishes I had spent hours making, her face twisting in pure disgust:

"We have private chefs in this house. Stop wasting your time making this garbage every day."

"I offered you an executive position at the firm, and you refused. Do you really have nothing better to do with your life?"

I never cared for corporate politics, and I had no desire to touch the Vance empire.

Our son, Leo, was deeply attached to her. Only when he heard her voice did he run downstairs for dinner.

I handed him his plate, but he shook his head.

When I asked why he wouldn't eat, Natalie snapped at me for my tone.

"He prefers five-star Western dining over homemade slop. What’s wrong with that?"

Empowered by his mother's backing, Leo shoved the bowl away with all his might.

The ceramic shattered on the hardwood floor. Boiling soup splashed across my forearm, searing my skin.

Natalie merely pulled the boy into her arms, murmuring sweet comforts to him.

Then, without sparing a glance at my red, blistered arm, she said:

"Have the maids clean it up. I’m tired."