Chapter 354: Men In Suit—No, Men In Aprons

Down below, the award ceremony concluded in a shower of gold confetti. When the three men returned to the VIP suite, Nat stretched his broad shoulders, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"That was a success," Nat declared, resting his hands on his hips. "And since April’s spatial dimension is now officially stacked with Michelin-star quality meals for the future, I say we have a proper feast to celebrate the end of this damn tournament."

"But April," Emily calls out softly, "Was there a need to go this far? Couldn’t you have simply ordered batch meals from high-end restaurants? It would’ve definitely been easier and quicker."

"Hm, I could, but that was too boring," April said with a smile. "Let’s just say I wanted to be part of something sensational before the world end. Building memories, you know."

"Then, will you still order more meals form the restaurants in the end?" Emily asked further but Xavier did the talking this time.

"I’ve already handled the logistics regarding that," Xavier said smoothly, pulling his phone from his coat pocket. "I’ve batch-ordered cooked meals from the top fifty restaurants in the capital to be delivered directly to our residence on Sunday. They won’t taste as extraordinary as the competition dishes, but they will store indefinitely inside her space and allow her choose a wide variety of dishes whenever she craves."

"That’s Xavier for you," April said, "The master of logistics."

On the elevator ride down to the executive garage, Emily shifted nervously beside April before speaking up in a soft, bold tone. "April... can I go celebrate with Philippe tonight?"

April turned, her eyes searching her sister’s hopeful face. She raised a hand, gently stroking a stray lock of hair behind Emily’s ear.

"Enjoy it while it’s peaceful," April murmured with a soft, affectionate smile. "And don’t forget to keep the bodyguards close, okay?"

Emily hugged her, her heart swelling with happiness.

"Yes, I promise. You’re the best,"

After Emily went ahead to meet Philippe, her gtuards shadowing her, the others got into their vehicles ad headed for the estate. This time, Samuel stayed close, making sure no one kidnapped April into their vehicle on the way back.

When they arrived back at the estate, the glass doors slid open to reveal Oliver sitting in the parlor. He had been awake for a while, his wire-rimmed glasses back on his face as he calmly flipped through a thick medical journal.

Hearing their footsteps, he lifted his dark gaze.

"You’re back," Oliver said, his raspy voice steady and relaxed.

April stepped forward, a playful, warm smile touching her lips. "How was your rest, Doctor?"

"It was fine," Oliver replied, his gaze briefly dropping to her feet before meeting her eyes. "Thank you for letting me rest."

Nat, Xavier, and Alexander halted behind her, their eyes flicking sharply between April and the doctor. An unmistakable current hung in the air between them—a subtle, intimate understanding that hadn’t been there the previous day.

The three men narrowed their eyes, silently questioning what on earth the surgeon had pulled off behind their backs while they were hunting her down that morning.

"Alright," Nat cut in loudly, clapping his hands together to break the rising tension. "Let’s get this celebration started. And since we’re celebrating the end of a cooking event, we’re doing it in the kitchen."

April blinked, turning toward him with a raised eyebrow. "You mean we’re eating in the kitchen?"

Nat shook his head, a crooked, mischievous grin breaking across his face. "No, sweetheart. We’re doing the cooking ourselves."

"What?!" April’s eyes widened.

April had never cooked. She didn’t know the first thing about culinary arts, and the idea of preparing a meal was still foreign to her. Yet, as she looked around the room, the men began stepping forward one by one.

"You don’t need to do anything but just wear an apron and look pretty. I can handle the meats," Nat claimed arrogantly.

"I am well-versed in high-end French cuisine," Xavier offered smoothly.

"My estate chefs trained me in classical pairing a long time ago, so I’m pretty good at it." Alexander added, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up his forearms with aristocratic ease.

"I can cook whatever you crave," Samuel stated with a flawless bow.

Even Oliver adjusted his glasses. "Culinary preparation is merely precise chemical reactions and temperature control. I can execute it effortlessly."

April stared at them in utter disbelief. She was literally the only person in the room who had zero cooking skills.

"Fine," April submitted with a helpless, melodic laugh, bowing her head slightly. "I’ll be in your care."

What followed, however, was complete, chaotic, and beautiful madness.

The estate’s kitchen became a battlefield of elite men bickering over every minor detail.

"The reduction needs to simmer at eighty-five degrees, not a point higher!" Oliver barked, holding a digital thermometer over a pot while Alexander sneered at him, casually tossing wine into the pan.

"Get out of my way, Doc, you’re measuring garlic like it’s prescription medication!" Nat roared, tossing a handful of flour that ended up missing the counter entirely and dusting Xavier’s apron and collar. Luckily, it didn’t get in his eyes.

"Collins, you brute—" Xavier growled, immediately grabbing a handful of flour from the bowl and throwing it right back at Nat’s face, catching Samuel in the crossfire.

Samuel said no words, simply tilting his glasses with a glint of malice and revenge.

Within thirty minutes, the kitchen was dusted in white powder, sauce was splattered across aprons, white shirts, and five possessive men were arguing over dough and heat levels like competitive children.

April stood by the island, watching the entire spectacle unfold. A sudden, genuine burst of laughter escaped her throat—rich, light, and completely unreserved.

The entire kitchen went dead silent.

All five men froze mid-argument, turning their heads simultaneously to look at her. The sight of her laughing so freely—her brown eyes sparkling, her emerald dress slightly smudged with flour—struck them straight in the chest. They lived to see her like this.

"You guys are so ridiculous," April giggled, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye.

Sensing their shared victory, the men worked together with newfound vigor, finally assembling a massive, surprisingly delicious spread of seared steaks, handmade pasta, and rich sauces. They carried the dishes to the grand dining table, sitting down together in high spirits.

Nat leaned down beneath the sideboard, pulling out three dark, antique glass bottles of heavy vintage liquor, popping the corks with a loud thump.

April’s smile instantly vanished, her eyes narrowing at the bottles. "No. Absolutely not. I swore I was never drinking alcohol again."

She remembered that one disastrous night clearly—the single time she had let her guard down, gotten drunk, and accidentally spilled the deepest secrets about the world ending, turning her whole strategy upside down. She was a terrible drinker, and she refused to repeat that mistake.

"Come on, sweetheart," Nat drawled, pouring a deep amber liquid into a crystal glass and sliding it toward her. "It’s a celebration. You’re not keeping secrets from any of us anymore anyway. So drink up."

"It’s entirely safe here, April," Xavier added, his raspy voice soft as he leaned closer. "You’re surrounded by us. Nothing bad will happen."

"Just a glass or two," Alexander murmured, holding his own glass up in a subtle toast. "To the end of the competition... and the beginning of what comes next."

April looked at the amber liquid, then looked around the table at the five men staring at her with unvarnished heat and devotion. She gulped and reached for the crystal glass.

"Alright then," April said, raising her glass high. "I’ll drink."