Just like any other day, Felix strides into his white marbled kitchen, luring his senses to come and touch the curves of all pots and pans—the slight coolness of the chimney, heat from the boiling water challenging his fingers from afar and the aroma of dried mahogany whispering spells of taste in his blood.

He ties the loose strings of his purple apron, dipping into the curves of his waist and shows off, kissing a flying gesture into the air and flicks the glass lid off of the bowl, welcoming a wide puff of hot steam. The moist pasta gives out a creamy glare and looks back at the eighteen years old chef.

Quickly, Felix turns to the sink where he washes the hot noodles under the flush of spraying water and his fingers dancing through the strands. He hums a tune to it. When he's done, he picks at the fallen noodles and throws them into the container to the right, collecting food waste.

He goes through the packets lying here and there, looking for a specific four inches tall glassware, in which he stored his freshly made paste. Once he manages to discover absence of his wise memory, he steps back sighing making his vision broader and patient. He remembers walking through the fancy doors of Devo'ur's Mansion, his feet kissing the expensive flooring and eyes gushing again, not getting enough of the aesthetic-such beauty lying in every centimeters. Of course, the maid made his touring to snooze and get working into the kitchen. He instantly made the paste, washed the dishes and threw the leftovers until the paste rested to ferment a little, around and hour, before his noodles boiled and extra water settled on the stove to heat. Suddenly, he stings up his recalling of reflexes and figures where he left his need of a thing.

Behind the microwave, he pulls out the utensil and smiles to his embarrassment, keeping the flow of his adrenaline to halt. He slipped into fear thinking how bad it would be for him to fail in the only thing he's best at. Also, that is a whole another reason of the old, cold-hearted maid Jennie to give him an earful for not preparing food on time and possible wrath of Mr. Devo'ur to skin him alive. The poor man is very. . . very sensitive to his tummy cravings.

Sooner, with some obtuse concentration he makes the wonder of making a renowned French cuisine morphed into tastes of Asian spices and stubbornness. He knew whatever he makes naturally have a dignity to taste like the eater is tasting heavens. It wouldn't be a lie if he says that he pretentiously made such different dish only to be centered to look Asian, because he did see a small glimpse of Mr. Devo'ur and those darker shades of eyes in a wall-length long portrait, inside of a room he's never allowed to fathom at but still peeked on his way in, days ago. Somehow the similar hooded eyes that he believes he shares with the billionaire owner of the house he works in, he put his dreams and hardwork to prove an impression on Mr. Devo'ur.

He starts garnishing the mouth-watering cuisine on the kitchen island when, he looks at the time, cursing his spine to not have any chills further. He obviously skipped his time. It wouldn't be trouble for him if it was an hour at most, but the clock clearly struck nine at the night, whereas he was supposed to be out and away from the grounds of Devo'ur's lands around six.

What makes him to jump off a cliff and die right at the moment is hearing dense steps, that leads to his way. Felix thinks about hiding under the table, but damn the table is see through. The tapping of footsteps slows to the doorframe and his eyes finally, strike with the stunning, beastly eyes, the hooded ones of gray shades and he drops the bowl full of parsley.

Felix steps back, when the tall man in front of him predates off his confidence and stance, flicking his curly hair to a side and wiping the smaller drops off of him with a small towel in between his long hands. Felix feels his mouth dried to the man. How can a man have such dominant demeanor and be choking the breaths out of him, still not nearing seven feets towards him. Oh holy God, what if that man actually nears him?

He repeated the lines in confusion. But it makes the man hunting Felix with his eyes, grin massively.

A loud crash of noise, breaks the lustful silence between them and a gun shot faints Felix.