It was nothing short of trampling on my professional dignity.
Seeing the dark look on my face, Eliza sighed impatiently. "Dad, we already made a compromise by letting you be the assistant. Can't you just be satisfied? Do you really want to tear this whole family apart before you stop?"
"If you weren't my father, I wouldn't even bother with you!"
Her tone dripped with disdain.
I clenched my fists until my knuckles cracked and turned away, refusing to answer.
She hadn't always been like this. My daughter used to be kind, gentle, and filial. Perhaps now that she was married and had her own career, she felt her wings have hardened. She no longer respects her old father and just saw me as a burden, standing in her way.
"Dad," she continued sharply, "if you're going to be this stubborn, then let's settle our accounts properly."
Her eyes narrowed as she began counting, cold and methodical.
"You've been getting one thousand a month for living expenses. It's been two years—that's twenty-four thousand. I won't even count the meals you've eaten. Just give me twenty thousand, and we'll call it even."
She said it without shame, as if she were the one who'd been wronged.
My whole body shook with fury.
Calum couldn't stand it anymore. "Eliza, do you even hear yourself? If that's how you calculate things, shouldn't you count how much it cost him to raise you into an adult?!"
She scoffed. "He raised me because he had to. That's what parents do. But now I'm married—I'm part of the Rembrandt family. Helping him is kindness, not an obligation!"
Her words stripped away the last illusion I had of her.
It was clear that now she thought the new chef was capable enough. She no longer had any scruples, completely revealing her true colors.
My heart went cold. I bit out the words, each one cutting my tongue like glass.
"Fine. Twenty thousand, right? I'll give it to you. After this, we're no longer father and daughter."
"Gladly," she said without hesitation. "Just don't come crawling back when you regret it."
I transferred the money. She checked her phone, turned on her heel, and left without looking back.
The more I thought about it, the heavier my chest felt. A violent cough escaped me, and the medical monitor beside my bed began to blare an alarm.
My apprentice shouted for the doctors, and they rushed in just in time to stabilize me.
Later, a few workers from the restaurant messaged me. They'd created a small chat group—and sent me a video.
In the footage, Eliza was grinning from ear to ear, speaking to Michael and her mother-in-law.
"The money is back," she said proudly. "My father is perfectly fine—he was just faking being sick to guilt-trip us."
Her smile was sly and gleeful, like a fox that had just outwitted the farmer.
I felt my heart twist painfully again.
"Good job, honey!" Michael said, pulling her into his arms. "Once we serve that tycoon a perfect meal, we'll get the five-million investment. After that, we'll be swimming in money."
Her mother-in-law raised a thumbs-up. "Don't worry about the cooking—I found the new chef myself. He's reliable, clean, and won't sneak bites from the kitchen. He knows every cuisine too! The tycoon will be over the moon."
The three of them laughed, beaming with joy, as if nothing in the world could go wrong.
Watching that video, I finally gave up on them completely.
"Calum," I said weakly, my voice trembling but resolute. "About what you said before... I accept."
Calum immediately knelt and kowtowed, tears in his eyes. "Godfather! I swear I'll honor and care for you all my life. If I don't, may the heavens strike me down!"
Tears welled in my own eyes—part gratitude, part heartbreak. Gratitude for the boy who treated me like family, and grief for the daughter who no longer did.
Seven days later, the richest man in town arrived at Eliza's restaurant.
Under the command of the new chef, steaming plates of food were served one after another.
"Mr. Irwin, please try these dishes," Michael said obsequiously, pouring him a glass of wine.
Eliza and her mother-in-law exchanged a look, grinning so wide their faces nearly split.
In their minds, they were already living the high life—luxury villas, yachts, and designer handbags glittering in their daydreams.
The richest man picked up a piece of braised pork belly with his fork and placed it into his mouth—only to spit it out the very next second.
"Too gamey!" he roared, slamming the cutlery onto the table. "And you didn't even clean off the pig hair properly!"
