My brother curled his lip and said mockingly, "I used to think you had such a happy, respectable family. I didn't expect it to fall apart this badly."
There was a glint of schadenfreude in his eyes.
At that moment, I realized—I'd misjudged him too. So much for putting yourself in someone else's shoes; envy always wins. My useless brother must have been waiting for years to see me humiliated.
"Everyone in the family is talking," he went on. "They say you've got the face of a man and the heart of a beast. Pretend to be kind on the surface, but behind people's backs you're greedy and fake—stealing peanuts from your own daughter's restaurant, of all things."
I froze. "Eliza told people that?"
"She couldn't talk sense into you, so she got everyone else involved," he said with a shrug. "They all agreed I should be the one to talk to you. Honestly, for someone your age, you should be grateful your daughter and son-in-law even let you live with them. Don't push your luck, or you'll end up alone with no one to take care of you."
Every word was a dagger twisting in my chest.
I never imagined my own daughter would drag my name through the mud like that—calling her father a thief before the entire family.
After the pain came clarity. I said firmly, "I'm never going back to that restaurant."
"That place is too small, and the air's too foul for me to breathe. As for old age—if it comes to it, I'll live in a nursing home. On hearing that, my brother's expression hardened. "Have you lost your mind, big brother? It's just a plate of peanuts! You'd turn on your daughter over that?"
I turned my back to him, unwilling to say another word.
Yes—it was just a plate of peanuts. But was that really enough reason to send me to the hospital?
Why, no matter what I said, were they so determined to believe the worst of me?
"You're hopeless," my brother muttered before walking out.
When the door closed, my apprentice finally spoke up. "Master, I'd like to invite you to be the head chef at my restaurant."
He took out a folder and handed it to me. I glanced at it—and my eyelids twitched violently.
The contract stated that I would receive seventy percent stock ownership.
Such an offer probably didn't exist anywhere else in the world. After all, no restaurant owner ever gives a chef such a large share.
"My father and I just came back from overseas," he explained earnestly. "We're starting a restaurant business and I’ve heard of your reputation for a long time—that's why I begged to be your apprentice to learn from you."
"But after seeing how you've been treated, I can't stand by anymore. From today on, I want to call you my godfather. I'll take care of you for the rest of your life."
"It's written in the contract too."
I had noticed long ago that Calum not only had great comprehension but also an extraordinary temperament. He was bright and refined, but I hadn't expected such sincerity.
Compared to my ungrateful daughter and her husband, he was a world apart.
I was deeply moved.
"Master," he said gently, "no need to decide now. Think it over."
He didn't press me further.
The next day, Eliza finally appeared at the hospital. The first thing she did when she entered the room was frown.
"The tycoon who came yesterday wasn't satisfied with the food," she said curtly. "I've invited him to come back in a week. You need to return and help."
She strode right up to me and grabbed my arm, not even bothering to check my condition.
"I'm sick," I said flatly. "Hire another chef."
She didn't apologize—didn't even look guilty.
"We did hire someone new," she said matter-of-factly. "My mother-in-law recommended him. This time, we just need you to help out. The kitchen’s too busy without two people, and you have enough experience to manage both sides."
Her tone was full of entitlement, as though she were doing me a favor.
I felt my blood boil again.
So that was it. They wanted me to go back as someone else’s assistant.
Me? A dignified state banquet chef?
When have I ever worked under someone else?
How utterly ridiculous!
