Chapter 910: Chapter 910

Chapter 910:

Concern flickered across Noel’s face. Though his relationship with Harlee had begun at Rhys’ request, over time, his feelings had deepened.

But he knew no matter how much he cared for her, she wasn’t his to have, so he kept those emotions hidden.

“Alright,” Noel said lightly.

“Let’s enjoy the meal and forget about everything for a while.”

He drove swiftly, turning a thirty-minute trip into twenty.

“I’ll park. You head inside and order,” Noel instructed.

Harlee nodded.

“Okay.”

Harlee got out of the car calmly.

Disliking crowds, she appreciated that Noel had reserved a private dining room.

After waiting twenty minutes for all the dishes to be served, Harlee noticed Noel still hadn’t arrived, so she called him.

“Still stuck with the traffic officers?”

As Noel drove into the underground parking lot, he found two cars blocking the entrance, their drivers locked in a standoff, neither willing to yield. Trapped between them, he had no way to move forward or back.

“They’re here. I’m parking now,” Noel said into his phone.

“Alright, I’ll start eating,” Harlee replied before promptly ending the call.

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After two and a half years of friendship, Harlee had no qualms about being blunt with Noel.

Putting her phone aside, Harlee casually began savoring the food in front of her. The moment the flavors hit her tongue, tears unexpectedly welled up in her eyes. The taste was identical to Rhys’ cooking. Only Rhys would omit garlic from the recipe because she disliked it.

After three long years, Harlee finally had something, a trace of Rhys, however faint.

Her hand instinctively clenched into a tight fist as she fought to suppress the wave of emotions crashing through her.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her composure back, burying her feelings beneath a mask of indifference. She knew she couldn’t afford to let anyone see her vulnerability—her fear that if this small hope crumbled, so would she.

With her expression cold and distant once more, Harlee motioned for a waiter and asked evenly, “Could I speak with the chef who prepared this? The dish suits my taste perfectly, and I’d like to thank him personally.”

The waiter, bowing slightly, replied, “Of course, ma’am. Please wait a moment while I inform the chef.”

In the kitchen, the head chef muttered to himself, “You cooked the dish. Isn’t it wrong for me to pretend otherwise?” He looked conflicted. Originally, he had been tasked with preparing Harlee’s order, but at the last minute, the restaurant’s owner had decided to step in and handle it himself.

Despite his reservations, the head chef hadn’t dared object.

The head chef had watched as the owner worked deftly, his skill evident in every movement. Out of respect for the owner’s authority, the head chef had stayed quiet. Now, however, a problem had arisen: a customer wanted to meet the person behind the dish.

Rhys, calm and composed, shrugged off his chef’s jacket.

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