Mr Billionaire's Regret Chasing His Irresistible Wife (Jared and Arielle) novel Chapter 125

(REBECCA’S POV)

I showed up to work with a ready smile on my face, not for anything in particular —because the day was just as ordinary as any other. I moved through the motions of my role at the restaurant with efficient muscle memory for most of the day.

“Who’s taking the order for table eight?” Stephen asked as he poked his head into the kitchen.

He was looking brighter than the previous day when Arielle had a visitor. I could tell what upset him so much even though he’d rather we both pretended like that wasn’t the reason.

“I am,” I finally announced. “It will be ready in a second.”

“Alright. We don’t want our customers waiting on their orders for so long,” he said with a nod before walking away.

I quickly prepared the order, a classic English meal, imagining the couple at the table celebrating something special—perhaps an anniversary or a first date.

“Hello guys,” Arielle’s voice chimed in as she entered the kitchen. My heart skipped at the sight of her. She looked a bit pale, and her eyes were slightly red. Had she been crying? But despite that, her spirit seemed undampened, and I couldn’t help but smile back at her infectious energy.

“Hey, Becca,” she nodded specially to me and I nearly bit my tongue from sheer nervousness.

Get a hold of yourself! I cautioned myself.

“Hey, Arielle,” I managed to say eventually.

She smiled and headed to the sink to wash her hands before tying on her apron. My excitement bubbled up; I was about to witness the artistry of a culinary genius in action.

“Today I’ll be sharing how to make this special Italian dish I learned during my time there. Of course, the recipe is modified with a little bit of the Arielle touch,” she said with a wink.

As she began, the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of heavy cream and vanilla as she heated it up. I watched in awe as she whisked the egg yolks and sugar, effortlessly combining them with the warm cream. Then she poured the mixture into delicate ramekins and set them in a water bath.

Her movements were graceful and confident—this was her domain. I loved seeing her cooking!

After some time in the oven, she pulled out the custards, still slightly jiggly in the center.

“We usually let them chill for at least two hours or overnight, but I’m going to cheat today,” she said with a mischievous smile.

Before serving, she sprinkled a thin layer of sugar over each one and expertly caramelized it with a kitchen torch.

“Tada! My signature Crème Brûlée.” She beamed, “Come have a taste!”

I couldn’t resist diving in. The custard was silky smooth, a perfect balance of rich vanilla flavor and sweetness. As I cracked through the caramel layer, the bittersweet taste mingled beautifully with the creamy custard beneath. It was nothing short of fantastic.

Just as I was about to share my thoughts, that young man appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Aren’t you an epitome of perfection, ma’am?” Stephen m suddenly asked rhetorically, gushing with admiration like a high school teenager. No one had noticed him walk into the room for very obvious reasons (we all had our eyes glued on Arielle’s movements).

I would have rolled my eyes at his words if I didn’t think the same thing about Arielle—he only beat me by voicing them out to her hearing.

I noticed the slightly embarrassed smile on Arielle’s face at the compliment and I instantly wished she’d heard it from me instead.

“Thank you, Stephen, I think no one is perfect,” she replied with a humble smile. “I’ve failed at this dish many times. The first time I made it, My MasterChef scoffed at me like I committed a murder and from then on, I had to make it for her every Tuesday afternoon. It was a nightmare… but I believe we all have the potential to be exceptional, just need more practice right?”