Chapter 306

Ethan's face remained impassive. "She's free to do as she pleases. We're divorced now. It's not like I can chain her to the house."

Margaret glared at her son, frustration simmering beneath her carefully maintained composure. The woman had raised one of Newport City's most powerful CEOs, yet he couldn't even keep hold of his own wife.

"Keep pretending you don't care," she snapped. "See if that brings her back."

Truthfully, Margaret hadn't been Vivian's biggest fan initially. She'd only warmed to the girl because Ethan had been so obviously smitten.

Then there were those divine lemon chicken feet. One bite had been enough to change Margaret's entire perspective. Now the thought of losing her future daughter-in-law—and those heavenly snacks—was unbearable.

Anger transformed into appetite. Margaret popped open the takeout container, the tangy aroma of citrus and spice immediately filling Ethan's sterile office.

Ethan watched, bewildered, as his usually poised mother devoured chicken feet with uncharacteristic gusto. "Mother, what are you doing?"

"Eating," came the muffled reply around a mouthful of gelatinous delight.

The flavors exploded on her tongue—perfectly balanced between spicy, sour, and sweet. Vivian's culinary skills alone made reconciliation worth pursuing.

Ethan's nose wrinkled. "You know I don't eat street food."

"Try one," Margaret insisted, thrusting a glistening piece toward him. "You might surprise yourself."

Midday hunger won over prejudice. Ethan took a cautious bite. Then another. And another.

"Well?" Margaret arched an eyebrow.

"It's... exceptional," he admitted grudgingly.

Margaret seized her opportunity. "Vivian made these. Specifically for you. Did she ever cook for you during your marriage?"

Ethan froze. The realization hit like a physical blow. He vaguely recalled similar dishes at family dinners—meals he'd ignored in favor of more "sophisticated" fare.

"I see this is new for you too." Margaret sighed. "I misjudged Vivian. There are depths to her we never bothered to explore."

Ethan's expression darkened. "What's the point? She's made her choice."

"You're Nathaniel Blackwood," Margaret snapped. "Since when do you accept defeat?"

The empty container between them seemed to mock his hesitation. That single taste had revealed more about his ex-wife than four years of marriage. Now the real question remained—was it too late to change the ending?