Chapter 99

"You're the one who asked me to lean in," Samuel replied, sober but with a mocking tone in his voice, as affectionately teasing as if he were tipsy.

Her cheeks, flushed red like apples, were adorable. He shouldn't have kissed her, he thought; he should have taken a bite.

His girl was small, soft, and mischievously innocent, an irresistible temptation to Samuel even when she did nothing at all.

"I'll throttle you!" Layla fumed, pushing against his chest, trying to shove him away. "Get out, just get out!"

"Why are you angry now?" Samuel caught her hands.

"Angry at you? You're not worth it. Why aren't you having a candlelit dinner with Miss Eilish instead of bothering me? My place isn't big enough for someone as grand as you."

He chuckled suddenly, "Ah, jealous, are we?"

"Jealous? Absolutely not!"

"Then why are you so mad?"

"I just don't like being lied to, okay? People saying one thing to my face and another behind my back. Since you're so cozy with Nora, stop bothering me. I hate being played for a fool."

"Have you seen the news?"

"What news?" Layla was clueless.

" My dear, when will you start paying more attention to me?" He turned on the TV, and the entertainment channel was recapping the morning's news.

There on the screen, Samuel stood in a black suit, a haughty, untouchable deity rebuffing a reporter.

"All these so-called marriage rumors, aren't they just fabrications by you journalists? Baseless speculations, utter nonsense."

"Are you saying the marriage announcement is false? You and Miss Eilish aren't getting married?"

"Use your brain and think for yourself. And take my advice, spreading rumors comes with a price!"

...

Layla was stunned.

Was he publicly denying the marriage rumors?

They were seen together; she had thought...

Confused, she bristled and pouted, "Why show me this? I didn't want to know, anyway."

"I claim I don't want to know, but I'm dying to find out , like a little furious cat pushing me away," she said.

"I push you away because you're annoying, not because I want to see you. It has nothing to do with that," Layla retorted, her tone mechanical. But then she paused, pondering over her own reaction. Why the hard shell? She doesn't even like him, so jealousy is out of the question.

At most, she considers him a two-faced jerk.

But he's certainly no catch.

Samuel sniffed, "What's cooking that smells so good?"

"Oh no, my pasta!" Layla exclaimed, "Crap!" She rushed into the kitchen only to find the noodles had turned into a sticky mess. She was speechless.

"It's all your fault! How can anyone eat this mess?"

"We'll have to toss it," Samuel said with regret. He had been looking forward to the tasty dish she usually made.

"I don't feel like making it again."

"But I'm hungry."

"So, what now? Are you going to cook?" Layla snorted impatiently.

"Sure." Surprisingly, Samuel readily agreed.

Layla's eyes bulged. "What have I done to deserve this torture?"

"Torture? Is my cooking that bad?" As a man who prides himself on being perfect in every way, it was the first time Samuel felt his ego bruised by such rejection.

"What else could it be? Have you even been in a kitchen? Do you know how to use spices? You're probably trying to poison me," Layla didn't hold back her sarcasm.

"Let's just see," Samuel said, taking off his suit jacket and handing it to her, playfully tweaking her cute nose. "Try not to idolize me too much afterwards."

Layla swatted his hand away, sticking her tongue out at his back. "Big talker."

Regardless of his actual cooking skills, Layla had to admit that Samuel had a certain charm in the kitchen.

In a black shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms, his movements elegant and fluid.

Stripped of his halo, he resembled a homely husband cooking pasta, a warm scene that hinted at a touch of a tender masculinity.

Maybe marrying him wouldn't be so terrible after all.

Layla shook her head quickly, casting out the horrific thought. She couldn't let illusions deceive her.

This must be a sugarcoated trick, just a ploy to woo her into marriage and kids, knowing things would change after the wedding.

The pasta was actually quite good, even to Layla's critical palate; an eighty percent pass was more than fair.

"How does it taste?" Samuel rarely cared about others' opinions, except hers.

"It's okay, so-so," Layla kept eating happily despite her less-than-enthusiastic face.

"When will you quit being so stubborn?" Samuel took a sip of water, chuckling as he side-glanced her.

"Calling it average means I'm stubborn? You're too confident for your own good."

"Shouldn't I?" Samuel retorted, not with arrogance, but with an air of entitlement that stemmed from his evident capabilities, leaving Layla at a loss for words.

If Samuel weren't confident, then who would be?

Layla took another big bite of her pasta. "This can't be the first time you've cooked for a woman."

"No, it's not."

"Oh."

"Aren't you going to ask who the first was?"

"Do I look like I'm dying to know?"

"I think you're curious, just not admitting it."

She shook her finger at him, "Wrong. I don't care to know, not out loud, not inside," she begrudgingly mumbled under her breath. "Probably an ex-girlfriend, what's there to ask? Who doesn't have a past?"

"It was my mom."

Layla's face instantly turned red, nearly shouting, "I told you I didn't want to know."

Yet somehow, her heart felt lighter all of a sudden.

Samuel smirked to himself. This girl...

...

At the Holland residence:

Upon entering the study, Jovan saw the scene unfold: The television screen shattered, the room in disarray, the servants trembling, heads bowed, afraid to clean up. Holland was seething on the couch, brows furrowed in deep anger.

"That brute, to publicly deny the engagement - it's going to be the death of me!" Holland was so exasperated he felt like throwing a tantrum.

He had personally arranged for the journalists. His plan was to announce the engagement publicly, to apply pressure, but never expected it to backfire. A private rejection was one thing, but to do so in front of the media... unforgivable!

"It seems my wild little brother has truly fallen for that woman, I guess all we can do is wish them well," Jovan said with a casual ease, stretching his long, noticeable legs as he sat down.

"Wish them well?! Are you trying to kill me?" Holland exploded. "For that woman to become a part of the Holland family, she'd have to step over my dead body!"

Jovan took a drag of his cigarette and laughed, blowing out a stream of smoke, "Maybe he would let her step over it after all."