CEO loves me with all his soul. - Chapter 129
129: 129.
129: 129.
The night was calm, a velvet hush wrapped around Levistis Manor like a luxurious robe.
On the second-floor balcony, the city lights shimmered in the distance, and the stars peeked down like quiet witnesses to the unfolding moment.
Augustin curled up in the wrought-iron chair beside the small table, a warm throw draped over his legs.
Leclair sat opposite, sipping from a delicate china teacup.
The breeze was just right, the conversation idle and soft.
It was perfect.
Until Augustin tilted his head, peering over his cup with that mischievous glint in his honey-colored eyes.
“Leclair,” he said sweetly.
Leclair looked up, always cautious when Augustin used that particular tone.
“Yes?” “I want you to cook for me.” There was a pause.
“You what?” Leclair blinked.
Augustin pouted slightly.
“Just once.
Ethan cooks for Adrian sometimes.
Why can’t I be pampered too?” Leclair, normally the calm in any storm, looked visibly alarmed.
“Darling… I’ve never cooked a full meal in my life.
We have chefs.
Staff.
I can order you anything.” “No.” Augustin shook his head defiantly, crossing his arms.
“I want something made by your hands.
It doesn’t have to be perfect.” Leclair hesitated.
“Even Ethan nearly burned the eggs once…” “But Adrian looked so happy,” Augustin murmured.
“I want to feel that.” Leclair looked at him for a long moment, then sighed dramatically.
“Fine.
Tomorrow night.
I will cook for you.” Augustin lit up like a lantern.
—- The next evening, Leclair stood in the kitchen like a man about to walk into war.
His sleeves were rolled up, a pristine apron tied awkwardly around his waist.
A cutting board, several suspiciously shiny utensils, and at least three different cookbooks surrounded him.
He had chosen something deceptively simple-garlic butter pasta with pan-seared chicken.
It was a mistake.
Ethan strolled in just as Leclair held a clove of garlic like it was a bomb.
“Oh no,” Ethan said, barely containing his grin.
“This is happening.” Leclair didn’t turn.
“I will succeed.” “You’ve never even boiled water.” “I watched three tutorials last night.” Augustin appeared at the door like a prince awaiting courtly entertainment.
“I’m not helping,” he declared.
“This is your journey.” Adrian peeked in next.
“Should we get the fire extinguisher ready?” “I’m being serious,” Leclair muttered, trying to peel garlic with all the grace of a surgeon-only to send the clove flying across the counter.
Ethan snorted.
“He’s being ‘serious,’ he says.
Where’s the camera?
Mathew needs to see this.” “No phones,” Augustin said firmly, eyes gleaming.
“This is sacred.” —- Thirty minutes later, something was definitely burning.
“Why is the butter… black?” Adrian asked gently, standing a safe distance away.
“It’s caramelized,” Leclair said through clenched teeth.
“It’s carbonized,” Ethan corrected.
Augustin sat on a stool by the counter, legs crossed and sipping wine as though watching a tragic opera unfold.
Leclair poured the over-sizzled butter into the pot of pasta.
It hissed in protest.
A spoon clattered.
A pot lid hit the floor.
The chicken-which had been resting too long-was now suspiciously pale on one side and incinerated on the other.
A strange smoke curled from the stovetop.
Adrian stepped forward with concern.
“Maybe I should just-” “No!” Augustin cut in.
“Let him do it.” Ethan was now doubled over in silent laughter.
Leclair looked like a man who had climbed a mountain and found another mountain.
“Is this revenge?” he asked Augustin over the steam.
“Are you punishing me for that time I forgot our anniversary?” “Maybe,” Augustin replied with a smirk.
—- The dining room of Levistis Manor had never hosted such a curious scene.
A full course meal, if it could be called that, lay spread across the polished oak table-charred chicken, butter-drenched pasta, and a salad that had somehow wilted before it ever reached a plate.
Leclair stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, his expression halfway between defiance and dread.
Ethan, Adrian, and Augustin sat at the table, forks poised, eyeing the plates with theatrical caution.
The air smelled of burnt garlic, overcooked meat, and something oddly metallic that no one had dared to investigate too closely.
“Is it…
safe?” Ethan asked, one eyebrow raised, poking the chicken with his fork.
Adrian leaned slightly to the side, sniffing the pasta as delicately as a cat testing new food.
“I think the butter’s…
evolved.” Augustin smirked behind his wine glass, his honey-gold eyes twinkling.
“Leclair says it’s an homage to rustic country cooking.” Leclair straightened.
“I said it was rustic-inspired.
There’s a difference.” Ethan leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with a dramatic sigh.
“Inspired by what, exactly?
An arsonist’s cookbook?” Laughter erupted around the table, and even Leclair couldn’t help but crack a reluctant smile.
Augustin reached over and placed a hand over Leclair’s.
“They’re just teasing you, mon coeur.” “Brutally,” Leclair muttered, but he sat down anyway, eyeing his own plate with a degree of suspicion.
Ethan was the first to brave the meal.
He picked up a piece of the chicken, chewed, and gave a theatrical pause.
“Well?” Adrian asked, eyes wide.
Ethan chewed slowly, then looked at Leclair with the most solemn expression he could muster.
“You know…
it’s not that bad.” Adrian blinked.
“Really?” Ethan swallowed.
“It’s worse.” Augustin choked on his wine and Leclair groaned, slumping forward into his hands.
“I knew this was a mistake.” But Adrian was already taking a bite of the pasta, his eyes focused and unreadable.
After a moment, he nodded thoughtfully.
“It’s edible,” he said.
“That’s not really a compliment,” Leclair murmured.
“No,” Adrian added, “I mean it.
It tastes like someone tried.
Like someone who doesn’t know how to cook but wanted to make something from scratch.
That’s worth more than perfect seasoning.” Augustin reached over and gently squeezed Leclair’s hand.
“I think it’s charming.” He picked up his fork and took a bite of the chicken.
He chewed, eyes wide, and then offered a bright smile.
“It reminds me of the camping trip we took in Norway.
Remember?
You tried to grill trout over a campfire and nearly set the tent on fire.” Leclair groaned again.
“Don’t remind me.” Ethan leaned forward, now smiling for real.
“Look, big bro.
Cooking isn’t easy, especially the first time.
But you pulled it off.
You got a meal on the table, no one died, and Augustin looks like he wants to smother you with kisses.
That’s a win.” Augustin didn’t wait for an invitation.
He rose slightly from his chair, leaned over the table, and kissed Leclair softly on the cheek.
“Merci,” he whispered.
“This is the most special dinner I’ve had.
Not because of the taste.
Because you did it.
For me.” Leclair’s face flushed with warmth, and he let out a quiet laugh.
“You’re lucky I love you.” “I am.
Very.”
