Everything was a deal until divorce novel Chapter 279

Chapter 279 Late Night

Arden kept hopping vegetables without turning her head. “Mr. Vale, you’re used to gourmet meals. You probably can’t stomach my simple cooking.”

She added, “Besides, all it takes is one phone call from you and someone will deliver whatever you want

Dorian watched her work–slicing through the steak, mushrooms, and spinach like she’d done it a hundred times. “I’ve had enough fancy dinners,” he said. “Kinda just want something simple. Comfort food.”

Arden was speechless.

This man was really milking his injury–she wouldn’t argue with him while he was hurt, and he clearly knew it.

“My stomach’s really empty,” Dorian went on shamelessly. “And with the cold and my injury, skipping dinner makes the pain worse.”

He was gambling- Gambling that Arden wouldn’t ignore him.

“You brought this on yourself,” she shot back. “No one told you to take a walk.”

He softened his tone. “I just wanted to see if you were still crying. I’ll eat and leave right after.”

Arden wanted to yell at him.

But she held back, thinking of his wound. “My pasta’s terrible.”

“I’ll manage,” Dorian replied, completely unbothered.

Arden was speechless again. “Mr. Vale,” she asked, “was all this really necessary?”

“I’m starving,” he said, “Desperate times.”

Arden gave him a look. “Go wait on the couch. It’s gonna take a while. If you keep standing there, you’ll pop your stitches.”

“Arden, just admit it. You’re worried about me.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

“You CEO types always think you’re the hero of your own story,” she muttered. “I just don’t want you passing out in my apartment. I’m not about to foot a hospital bill–I work like a mule and barely make

rent.”

Dorian chuckled. “Well, sorry to disappoint. I’m not dying anytime soon.”

Arden rolled her eyes. She focused on cooking, ignoring him completely now.

Half an hour later, the pasta was ready.

10:43 pm 8

M

Chapter 279 Late Night

Finished

She turned around with a plate in her hands. And there he was, standing right at the kitchen entrance, watching her.

She didn’t even blink, brushing past him. “Come eat. Then get out. I need to sleep.”

“Okay.”

He followed her to the table, eyes landing on the second plate. “Should I bring that one?”

“Please. Sit. If you spill anything or burn yourself, I’ll end up paying for it.”

Dorian shamelessly sat down.

Arden set the plate in front of him, then headed back to the kitchen. A minute later, she returned with her own plate, a fork, and a small jar of chili oil.

The chili oil was homemade–Arden had followed a recipe online, and it had turned out amazing. She loved tossing a bit into her pasta for an extra kick.

There was also a jar of spicy sausage crumbles on the side.

She sd a clean fork toward Dorian, then scooped some chili oil and sausage into her plate.

Dorian glanced down at his plate.

Pasta, topped with a soft–fried egg, wilted greens, sautéed mushrooms, and a sprinkle of fresh herbs and Parmesan. The smell was rich and warm. Honestly? It looked incredible.

And healthy.

Steam rose up, brushing his face and making his eyes sting a little.

Since leaving for Soutaria, it had been ages since he’d sat down to a simple, hot meal like this–especially something homemade on a cold, snowy night.

He used to lie awake at night wondering what Arden was doing. Had she moved on? Forgotten him?

Now here she was, setting this plate in front of him… and that egg on top–it hit him right in the chest. Maybe she still cared, just a little. Maybe she made this because she knew he was hurting.

He looked over at her through the steam. She was focused on her plate, cheeks pink from the heat, long. lashes lowered.

She looked soft.

Dorian swallowed hard.

Just as he reached for the chili oil, Arden smacked his hand without hesitation. The sound was sharp and fast. “Seriously?” she said. “You got shot. You’re still healing. And now you want spicy food? Are you trying to wreck your stomach? If you have a flare–up, I’m not rushing you to the ER.”

Dorian didn’t flinch. Her hands were small–it barely stung.

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