Facade of Love (Yvette Scott and Idris Young) novel Chapter 153

Chapter 153 Madam Young’s Crisis 

Phone in hand, I hesitated, stealing a glance at Sweety before asking, “Where are you?” 

“In the old manor.” 

“Got it,” I replied. “I’ll swing by soon. Hang tight, okay?” 

Emily hummed in response. 

I ended the call and faced Sweety, feeling a twinge of guilt. Before I could explain, she scrunched up her face and asked, “Yvette, are you ditching me to see someone else again?” 

Her pout was hard to resist, but I managed to say with a suppressed chuckle, “Madam Young’s up and craving mushroom soup. Emily can’t cook to save her life, so she asked for my help. Madam Young’s 

family, and she’s in the hospital–I can’t just ignore that.” 

Sweety’s face fell, and she let out a drawn–out ‘ohh‘ before adding, “Emily? Mr. Young’s wife?” 

I nodded, rummaging through my bag for keys. 

“And?” she prodded. “Is she nice? Pretty?” 

I found my keys, looked up, and smiled, “Yeah, she’s a gem–beautiful, kind, smart, and a breeze to get along with. What’s with the sudden interest? You’ve never been this nosy.” 

She forced a laugh and said, “Oh, it’s nothing. I just think Mr. Young is such a charming gentleman, so his wife has to be amazing, right? How else could she match up to him?” 

I frowned, puzzled, and asked her, “Just because Liam saved you once, he’s suddenly a hero in your eyes?” 

She huffed and dropped the conversation, nudging me along. “Okay, okay, off you go. Don’t make 

them wait.” 

After saying goodbye to Sweety, I headed over to the Youngs Old Manor. Emily was bustling around the kitchen with two plump chefs trailing behind her. They watched her every move, exchanging glances, itching to lend a hand. 

However, their help was not needed for a simple mushroom soup, which somehow had both chefs scratching their heads. 

“Hey, Big Sis,” I greeted Emily. 

At the sound of my voice, Emily spun around, beaming. “Yvette, you made it! I’ve been trying to get 

this soup right with the chefs, but it just doesn’t taste like yours. I can’t figure out what’s missing.” 

She gestured to the several attempts at mushroom soup on the table. 

I tasted the soups she made, which were pretty good, and then I added a bit of potato starch for thickness and a splash of MSG for a twist. 

I smiled and handed her a spoon. After a tentative sip, she paused, then admitted, “It’s oddly 

delicious.” 

“Grandma’s getting on in years, and her taste buds aren’t as sharp as they used to be. MSG should increase the flavor so that she’ll taste more of it.” I explained. After finishing, I grabbed a to–go box and packed up the mushroom soup I had made. 

Emily gave a soft nod, her expression tender. “I’ve learned a lot. Next time, I can whip it up grandma myself, and we won’t have to call you from miles away.” 

for 

I offered a small smile, about to say that grandma could call on me for soup anytime, but then reality hit me—I was about to be divorced from Idris, and I could not just drop everything to be with her 

anymore.