Betrayed by the Father Reborn in His Rival's Arms novel Chapter 408

"Let's go," Quentin released his grip, his expression returning to its usual indifference. "Time to go home."

As the car turned into the long driveway of their garden villa, Quentin suddenly spoke. "Hungry? We didn't eat much at the hospital."

Madeline snapped out of her daze, thought for a moment, and said, "A little."

"What do you want to eat?"

"That pasta you make."

Quentin glanced at her, a hint of unexpected satisfaction in his eyes. Usually, when he asked her what she wanted, eight times out of ten she'd say 'whatever,' and the other two times she'd say 'I'm not hungry.'

It was rare for her to give a clear, specific answer.

The corner of Quentin's mouth twitched.

"Get out of the car," he said. "Wait for me."

The kitchen was an open layout.

Quentin tied on an apron, washed his hands, and pulled tomatoes, ground beef, and fresh herbs from the fridge.

His movements were sharp and efficient, his knife skills precise as he diced the tomatoes into perfect little cubes.

Madeline sat on a barstool across the kitchen island, resting her elbows on the counter and cupping her chin as she watched him.

Quentin's back was incredibly appealing. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and his shoulder blades subtly shifting beneath his thin t-shirt.

When he cooked the sauce, he never overcomplicated the seasoning—just a pinch of salt, a dash of black pepper, and a drizzle of olive oil—yet the flavor was always perfect.

When the dish was served, it was steaming hot. The rich red of the tomato sauce clung perfectly to the pasta, garnished with a sprinkle of vibrant green herbs.

Quentin handed her a fork and then sat down across from her. He didn't eat; he just watched her.

Madeline was filled with joy. Even the notoriously powerful tycoon Quentin Prescott would wash his hands and cook for her.

A powerhouse CEO putting on an apron and spinning around in a kitchen full of pots and pans, just for her.