The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 145

Chapter 145, “Risotto Under Fire” (Part 3)

Ryan’s POV

The host hovered close to the tasting counter, microphone in hand, his voice dropping like he was about

to confess something scandalous.

“You can feel the tension, can’t you?” he whispered dramatically. “You can taste the tension!”

The audience chuckled, but nobody clapped.

They were too invested now, too hungry for a mistake.

From where Ryan sat with Eve and the Rodrigos, he could see the contestants lined up behind their plates like they were waiting for a verdict in court. Not one of them looked like they could breathe properly.

Tevin rolled his shoulders like he was about to walk onto a red carpet instead of tasting risotto he didn’t

understand.

Maxwell stayed quiet, eyes roaming the table the same way he studied a boardroom, calm, observant,

impossible to impress.

Neither of them were chefs. They weren’t even pretending to be. Eve had recruited them because they were popular, because this show needed the kind of energy cameras loved.

Before they got there, Tevin had joked about it openly.

“So we’re here because we’re pretty?” he’d asked, hand on his chest like he’d been wounded.

Eve had answered sweetly, “Exactly.”

And Tevin, grinning like he’d won, had promised, “Don’t worry. I’ll judge with my soul.”

Maxwell had added, dead serious, “I’ll judge with my stomach.”

That was the truth of it.

Tevin and Maxwell weren’t there to critique technique. They were there to taste, react, and make the

audience fee/something.

The actual culinary judges, those who lived and breathed food, stood close by, clipboards in hand,

listening more than speaking.

A plate came forward that looked wrong before anyone even touched it. The rice had split. The starch sat thick and heavy, like glue pretending to be comfort.

Tevin winced the moment his spoon went in.

“Oh no,” he said softly, like he was grieving. Then louder, for the mic, “This tastes like… stress.”

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, but it had an edge.

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Chapter 145 “Risotto Under Fire” (Part 3)

Maxwell tasted next. Chewed once. Twice.

Clam

He didn’t make a face. He didn’t perform. He just set the spoon down slowly and stared at the plate for a beat too long.

The contestant’s face drained anyway, because Maxwell didn’t need to insult you to make you feel judged.

One of the professional judges murmured something about overcooking and broken grains into their mic, but Tevin had already turned to the camera like he’d been personally offended by the concept of failure.

“I’m sorry,” Tevin said, shaking his head. “I’m not even a chef, and I can tell this is heartbreak.”

Maxwell glanced at him. “Your soul is dramatic.”

Tevin pointed at him. “Your stomach is cold.”

Maxwell’s voice stayed flat. “My stomach has standards.”

They moved on.

A better plate came next, cleaner, closer to what risotto was meant to be. Tevin took a bite and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, surprised. “This one… this one is trying to love me.”

Maxwell tasted and gave a small, almost reluctant nod.

One of the culinary judges leaned closer to their card and quietly said something about balance and texture, but Tevin looked pleased with himself already.

Then Ashley’s plate slid forward.

And even Ryan could see it.

Not because he knew risotto, but because confidence looked like confidence, even on a plate.

It wasn’t screaming for attention. It wasn’t dressed up to distract. It looked intentional, like whoever made

it wasn’t begging to be saved by garnish.

Tevin tasted.

His eyebrows lifted.

He looked at the spoon like it had betrayed his expectations.

“Hold on,” he said, then took another bite immediately. “Hold on. This is… this is actually good.”

The audience made that soft sound, like a collective inhale.

Maxwell tasted next.

He paused.

Then he took a second bite.

That second bite did something to the room, because Maxwell didn’t repeat anything unless it mattered to

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Chapter 145 “Risotto Under Fire” (Part 3)

him.

Eve’s fingers tightened slightly on her lap.

Ryan reached under the table and brushed his knuckles against her hand, a silent question.

Cl

She didn’t look at him, but her fingers shifted and touched his briefly, restrained, like she was reminding

herself she wasn’t alone in that place.

Maxwell set his spoon down.

He looked at the plate again, then at Ashley.

“If I met this in a restaurant,” he said calmly, “I wouldn’t complain.”

Tevin gasped. “That’s basically a love letter coming from you.”

Maxwell didn’t deny it.

Tevin leaned closer to the plate, still chewing like he didn’t want the moment to end.

“And it tastes expensive,” Tevin added, pointing at Ashley like she’d done something illegal. “Like you had a plan. Like you weren’t afraid.”

Ashley’s eyes shone with sudden relief so sharp it looked painful. She nodded quickly, swallowing.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The host practically vibrated with excitement. “Oh! Oh, we have a contender!” he shouted, turning to the audience. “Did you hear that? EVEN MAXWELL HAS FEELINGS TONIGHT!”

The crowd laughed and screamed.

Then Mathew’s plate came up.

And the air changed.

Not because people knew the history, most of them didn’t.

But because Mathew carried something into the tasting line that didn’t belong to food.

A tightness. A sharpness. A kind of contained rage that cameras didn’t need context to capture.

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