Third Person's POV
"I'll go first thing in the morning. Blake, did I embarrass myself tonight?" Leo asked, worried about the fallout from the fight.
"I'll handle it. I have already taken care of the bar, but if any videos surface, I'll deal with them immediately. Don't worry," Blake reassured him, patting his shoulder.
"Thanks, Blake," Leo said, collapsing onto the couch. "Where the hell is Olivia? If I catch her, she's going to pay."
"I've got people looking into it. If she's left town, we'll know soon," Blake said grimly.
"Alright. It's getting late. You should head back. Don't worry about me," Leo said, glancing at the clock.
"I'll leave two bodyguards outside. Call them if you need anything," Blake said before leaving.
Leo lay back on the couch, the pain from his wounds sharp but insignificant compared to the ache in his heart.
Earlier, while drinking, he'd overheard a group of men talking about Sunny in the most vulgar way. The thought of her being with anyone else had driven him into a blind rage.
[$]
Blake returned home to find the children asleep and Catherine sketching designs for her upcoming spring collection in their bedroom.
Hearing the car pull up, she set her pen down and went to the window. She saw the tall figure of a man passed by the entrance hall.
Catherine turned and walked out to see Blake striding up the stairs, their eyes meeting.
"Where did you go?" she asked, taking his hand. "Grandma said you left in a hurry. Is everything okay?"
"I want something you cooked. I haven't eaten yet," Blake said, his voice low and tired.
"You haven't eaten? It's so late!" Catherine exclaimed, her heart aching for him.
"It was something I had to take care of. Come on, make me something," Blake said, leading her downstairs.
At this hour, the housekeepers had already retired for the night.
Blake didn't want to trouble them, and besides, he hadn't tasted Catherine's homemade cooking in quite some time and was starting to miss it.
Catherine fetched some ingredients from the refrigerator, letting out a soft sigh.
Since she had moved into the Royal Pack, she rarely cooked. However, making pasta was no big deal for her.
She noticed some beef in the fridge and decided to make beef pasta for Blake. She used to make it often for the children, and it had always been a hit with them. She was confident Blake wouldn't mind it either.
Blake leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching her with a soft expression.
She was wearing a high-necked long sweater, with an apron tied around her waist. Her long hair was loosely tied back in a ponytail, framing her clear, fair face and bright, watery eyes. She looked both charming and innocent.
Watching her skillfully slice the beef, her focused and earnest demeanor exuded a gentle, domestic warmth. Blake couldn't help but feel a surge of affection. He thought to himself that he wanted her to cook for him more often because, suddenly, he just wanted to eat the food she made.
"Mr. Chavez, what are you doing here?" Dowen appeared, surprised to see them in the kitchen.
"She's making me something to eat," Blake said lazily.
"You haven't had dinner? Miss Wyatt, let me handle this," Dowen insisted.
"It's fine, Dowen. It's just a quick meal. Go rest," Catherine said with a smile.
"But this is my job—" Dowen protested.
"Dowen, go to bed. I want her cooking," Blake said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.