Chapter 65

Vivian Laurent gave Ethan Roscente an icy glare. "I'll take the food. You can leave now."

"Cold as ever?" Ethan didn't budge. "I waited three hours for you. At least let me have a warm meal before kicking me out."

Vivian rolled her eyes internally.

Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl. After thirty seconds of silence, she pulled out a chair and sat down.

"I heard Julian Cortez signed as the face of AN Atelier." Ethan picked up a piece of sweet-and-sour ribs. "You're close with their team?"

"Interrogation?" Vivian kept her eyes on the braised pork in her bowl.

It was unexpectedly delicious. She was so hungry her chopsticks nearly slipped.

"Just making conversation."

"If it's just conversation, why should I answer?"

Ethan's chopsticks froze mid-air.

"Are we friends?"

"..."

"Right now, you're the one who needs something from me."

Ethan was speechless. Her logic cut like a scalpel—flawless and merciless.

"I just wanted to chat." He set down his chopsticks. "I'm curious about you, Dr. Laurent."

"Too bad I'm not curious about you."

Ethan studied her frosty profile. She treated patients with such warmth, yet turned to ice around him.

This same woman had performed eighteen consecutive surgeries to save extra patients—procedures she could've easily refused.

Vivian finished eating like a storm and pushed her bowl aside.

Ethan followed suit.

"Done?" She glanced up.

"Yeah."

"Go wash the dishes."

Ethan arched a brow. No one had ever dared order him to do chores.

"You ate at my place. Cleaning up is the least you can do." She pointed to the kitchen. "Make it spotless before you leave."

"Vivian," Ethan chuckled darkly, "is this how you treat guests?"

"You're free to leave if you hate washing dishes."

Her genuine distaste for dishwashing struck him. Suddenly he remembered his ex-wife—that version of Vivian never resisted cleaning up.

She used to hum while tidying after meals.

"Why don't you hire a housekeeper?"

"None of your business."

Vivian loathed having outsiders in her home. Living alone meant freedom—wandering in pajamas whenever she pleased.

"I'll arrange a live-in housekeeper and chauffeur." Ethan softened his tone. "You won't need to drive yourself anymore."

How considerate. Too bad Vivian wasn't buying it.

"Mr. Roscente, does your girlfriend know how attentive you are to other women?" Her smile was razor-sharp.

"I've been single since my divorce." He held her gaze. "I consider you a friend. These small gestures mean nothing."

"First, we're not friends." She raised a finger. "Second, no thanks."

Ethan eventually carried the dishes to the kitchen. How hard could washing up be?

He turned on the faucet and rinsed a plate haphazardly.

See? Easy.