Orchid Garden Apartment.

It was rare for Sienna to sit quietly at home on a Friday evening as the sunlight still lingered along the horizon.

Usually, this hour belonged to chaos. Unfinished reports at the office, last-minute guest complaints, or laughter-filled dinners with her friends that stretched far too late into the night. But today felt different. As if the universe had decided to give her a break.

Sienna leaned back against the sofa’s soft cushions, her legs tucked beneath her as she stared at the small suitcase neatly placed near the door.

She is waiting for Zachary to pick her up at six o’clock. However, as the time neared, she was anything but relaxed. She grew nervous as the minutes moved closer to six o’clock.

"Gee! Why am I so nervous?" she muttered to herself, "It’s just a side job. You’re not going on a honeymoon, Sienna...Relax."

Unfortunately, her heart seemed to disagree. She still feels nervous.

To distract herself, she reached for the stack of papers resting on the coffee table in front of her—Ava’s recipes. The very thing she had practically begged, bribed, and emotionally blackmailed her friend for earlier that day.

Now, those neatly printed pages felt like both her greatest weapon and her biggest source of stress.

She flipped to the first page again, even though she had already read it twice.

"Herb Butter Grilled Chicken with Citrus Glaze," she read aloud, and without her realizing it, her lips curled into a smile. "This dish’s name sounds fancy... It feels like something people pay too much for."

Turning to the next page, her eyes brightened further.

"Pepper Garlic Beef Steak with Honey Soy Reduction..." She chuckled, "...Okay, Ava, are you trying to make me look like a professional or get me fired faster?"

Sienna shook her head in disbelief.

She continued reading the recipes, each one simple in structure yet elevated by small, clever details that made them feel special.

A fresh garden salad drizzled with a light sesame dressing.

A creamy mushroom soup with a hint of truffle oil—though Sienna silently decided she might replace it with something more budget-friendly, or her employer would go bankrupt overnight.

And finally, the dessert section.

She paused there a little longer.

"Caramelized Banana Crepes with Vanilla Cream..."

Her eyes softened.

"That actually sounds doable," she whispered, though a part of her still imagined the crepes turning into something that looked more like scrambled pancakes.

Sienna let out a small laugh, the sound light and genuine, something she hadn’t heard from herself much lately.

Carefully, she placed the papers back down on the table, smoothing them as if they were something fragile.

"You are the best, Ava," she muttered again, this time with a warmth that lingered in her voice. "I only told you a few ideas, and you already planned a full menu like this... what are you? A genius?"

She smiled while her gaze drifted toward the window, where the golden light of the setting sun painted the sky in soft shades of orange and pink.

For a moment, everything felt... peaceful.

But it only lasts for a few seconds as Zachary once again circled back in her thoughts.

Sienna frowned slightly.

"Seriously... who even hires someone like me as a chef? Out of all the people in the world, he chose the girl whose specialty is instant noodles and survival cooking."

She can’t help but laugh again, remembering how confident she was when she accepted the side job as a chef.

"Well, now... slightly upgraded survival cooking," she corrected herself, glancing proudly at Ava’s recipes.

Still, the memory of their conversation from last night replayed in her mind, especially the way he had said it didn’t matter how good her cooking was. Because they only wanted something simple. Homemade cooking.

"We..." she repeated softly, her brows knitting together.

That word still bothered her.

Who exactly was "we"?

Friends? Family? Important clients? Secret millionaires with strange tastes? Or worse... his girlfriend?

Sienna sighed softly and dropped her head back against the sofa.

"Great. Now I’m going to cook under pressure for people I don’t know. This is how horror stories begin."

She covered her eyes with her arm, her voice barely audible as she continued, "If I survive this weekend, I deserve a promotion. Or at least a lifetime supply of free meals."

After a few seconds, she slowly lowered her hands and stared at the ceiling, her expression softening again.

Despite all Sienna’s complaints, there was a small spark of excitement she couldn’t deny.

Something about stepping out of her usual routine, about doing something unfamiliar, about... being invited into Zachary’s world, even if it was just for a short time.

Her lips curved into a quiet smile.

"Alright," she whispered to herself, sitting up once more with a newfound determination. "Chef Sienna is ready."

Then Sienna paused when she remembered something, "Huh? Why hasn’t he called yet?"

She lifted her wrist to double-check the time.

"He’s already five minutes late..." she added, trying to sound calm, though the faint edge in her voice betrayed her growing restlessness. "I clearly remember he said he’d pick me up at six."

A small sigh escaped her lips as she placed her phone on her lap, only to pick it up again seconds later.

Her thumb hovered over his name, debating whether she should send a message first or wait a little longer and preserve what little dignity she had left.

"Don’t be that person, Sienna," she muttered to herself, narrowing her eyes at her reflection in her cell phone’s dark screen. "He was only six minutes late, not six hours..."

Still... her fingers moved anyway.

Just as she was about to type a message, her phone suddenly rang, vibrating sharply against her palm and making her flinch.

"Finally," she whispered, already assuming it was Zachary calling to say he was on his way.

But the moment she saw the caller ID, that smile slowly faded. It wasn’t his name. It wasn’t even a number she recognized.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone as a sad, heavy thought suddenly filled her mind.

"My father?"