The Stand-In Who Burned the Script novel Chapter 110

Chapter 110

Vivian had heard about this restaurant before. Supposedly, all their ingredients were flown in daily from overseas, giving the place an aura of elite exclusivity that rich people absolutely devoured.

With these pretentious raw salads and fancy dishes, the portions were microscopic and drowning in absurd, edible garnishes.

The chef acted more like a tortured artist than a cook.

She stabbed a tiny piece of foie gras with her fork and popped it into her mouth.

It tasted decent, melting instantly on her tongue like ice cream.

But when she went for a second bite, the plate was already empty.

And so began the agonizing wait for the next thimble-sized course.

If they were a couple hopelessly in love, a place like this might fuel the romance. But right now, sitting across from Jonah, she felt absolutely nothing. She just wanted to inhale her food and go home.

“Is it to your liking?”

Jonah smiled warmly, oozing the smug confidence of a man in total control.

“If there’s anything else you want to try, just name it. I’ll have them whip it up.”

“Pass.”

Vivian checked her watch. Another thirty minutes had dragged by. “If you’re done eating, just say so. Let’s wrap this up early.”

Jonah ran his tongue hard against his back teeth.

He wasn’t normally a hot-tempered man, but lately, this woman knew exactly how to effortlessly ignite his rage.

“Is having dinner with me really that torturous?”

“It’s…”

Vivian was about to say ‘It’s agonizing,’ but catching the murderous glint in the man’s eyes, her survival instincts kicked in. She offered a fleeting smile and pivoted. “It’s because I don’t like this kind of food.”

Jonah clearly hadn’t anticipated that answer. He paused.

“In three entire years, how much attention did you actually pay to me, Jonah?”

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11:31

Chapter 110

“You knew I spent a few years abroad, but you never bothered to learn that I despise pretentious raw salads. Instead of all this performance art, I’d rather be eating spicy street food or a cheap bowl of noodles… Forget it. You wouldn’t understand, and you certainly don’t care.”

“Your heart is entirely consumed by Amara. There was never any room for me.”

Having said her piece, Vivian grabbed her purse and walked out.

This time, Jonah didn’t stop her.

He stared at her retreating figure, the darkness in his eyes deepening into an abyss.

He genuinely couldn’t refute her words. Vivian had done so much for him, yet… his focus had always been tethered to Amara.

Jonah pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

“Mr. Granger.”

“Compile a full report on Vivian’s tastes and preferences. Have it in my inbox by tomorrow morning.”

His assistant hesitated. “Miss Fairchild?”

This was unprecedented.

Wasn’t he only obsessed with investigating Amara?

“Was I speaking another language?” Jonah’s voice dropped to a glacial register. “Do as you’re told. Stop asking questions.”

“Yes, sir! Understood,” the assistant stammered.

Just as he hung up, a waiter scurried over with two more impeccably plated courses.

Jonah’s expression morphed into pure venom as he snarled, “Take it away!”

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