A Meal Worth Millions

The phone vibrated relentlessly against Kendall’s trembling palm, a harsh buzzing that sliced through the chaotic noise of the studio. Staring down at the scattered stack of canceled, financially ruinous custom orders littering her desk, she finally swiped the green icon and brought the device to her ear.

"Accompany me to the Vance Estate tonight. Grandpa wants to see you." Declan’s deep, commanding voice came through the speaker, offering no greeting, no hesitation.

Kendall’s gaze swept over her devastated workspace. Her frustration peaked at the unapologetic, entitled sound of the man orchestrating this very chaos. "I am not in the position to visit the Vance Estate right now," she replied, her tone freezing over with icy indifference.

A tense beat of silence hung on the line. When Declan spoke again, his voice hardened into an authoritative snap. "We are not legally divorced yet. You do not get to decide whether you want to go or not."

Raised by his strict, traditional grandparents since childhood, Declan almost never defied their explicit wishes. This unwavering obedience uniquely extended to his secret three-year marriage to Kendall. His primary duty in this arrangement involved visiting the sprawling estate once a month, walking through the grand mahogany doors to convincingly feign marital bliss in front of Arthur and Agnes Vance. Anyone who upset the elderly couple instantly became his sworn enemy.

Hearing him wield his authority right as he ruthlessly crushed her beloved company into the ground just to secure a dress for Chloe pushed Kendall past her breaking point. A sharp, contemptuous chuckle escaped her lips, echoing softly in the ruined studio. Three years of love and dedication meant nothing. He was willing to exterminate her livelihood over another woman.

"Will you solve the massive financial crisis currently destroying my studio if I go to the Vance Estate and play the good wife with you tonight?" she challenged, laying her transactional terms bare.

"Okay. I'll pick you up tonight," Declan agreed without a single second of hesitation.

Assuming she was just throwing a dramatic tantrum to extort money, Declan felt a smug satisfaction settle in his chest. He thought offering this financial out would successfully force her compliance and end her recent rebellion. The moment he ended the call, he dialed an internal line. "Find out what issues K.Moon is facing," he commanded his elite corporate staff. "Aggressively intervene and fix their supply chain straight away. Do not bother me with the minor details."

True to his terrifying corporate power, before the business day officially ended, K.Moon's mysteriously canceled orders miraculously returned. Clients who had pulled out hours ago called back apologizing, agreeing to raise their prices to compensate for the sudden disruption. Several even wired their final payments upfront without further prompting. The crushing 2.8 million factory debt hanging over their heads vanished.

Tessa stared at the cleared spreadsheets, her eyes wide with shock. "Did Declan do this?" she asked tentatively.

Kendall’s beautiful face remained icy as she looked at the restored numbers. "Yeah. A dinner meal in exchange for 2.8 million. That is a good deal," she muttered cynically.

At exactly seven o'clock, Declan’s sleek luxury car idled outside the studio. Kendall slipped into the passenger seat, and they drove toward the imposing Vance Estate wrapped in a suffocating silence. The tension inside the confined leather-scented space of the vehicle was thick enough to cut. Just outside the grand front yard, right before the estate staff could spot them through the windshield, Declan slammed the brakes.

The sudden jolt threw Kendall forward against her seatbelt. Declan turned, his dark eyes scowling at her pale, deadpan expression. "With this miserable expression of yours, Grandpa will definitely smell a rat and know we are fighting," he snapped.

Kendall mechanically curled her lips upward. She stretched her facial muscles into a flawless, sickeningly sweet professional smile that failed to reach her dead eyes. "Fret not, Mr. Vance. I will finish the act since I already gave you my word."

Her explicit insistence on referring to their marriage as merely an 'act' ignited a dark, burning frustration deep within Declan’s chest. He had just magically saved her entire studio from bankruptcy. Why was she still stubbornly unhappy and pushing for a divorce?

His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Did you already manage to find your next husband?" he mocked viciously, his tone dripping with disdain.

Instantly wiping the fake, bright smile from her face, Kendall looked directly into his eyes. "So what if I did?" she answered provocatively. Does he think he holds a monopoly on moving on while parading Chloe around the city?

Declan's sharp brow twitched in severe annoyance at her brazen response. He opened his mouth to verbally retaliate and tear her down further, but the massive iron gates of the estate slowly swung open. Greta, the family's long-serving head maid, stepped out into the driveway with a warm, welcoming smile. "Mr. Declan and Ms. Kendall, you're back!"

Forced to swallow his anger and drop the argument, Declan offered a stiff acknowledgment. The couple exited the car, swapping their shoes for indoor slippers at the entrance before immediately going their separate ways within the massive house. Declan headed straight upstairs to find his father, Warren, while Kendall walked obediently toward the opulent main living room.

The formidable matriarch, Agnes, sat waiting on the plush velvet sofa. She offered no warm greeting or polite inquiry about Kendall's day. Instead, Agnes's sharp, scrutinizing eyes dropped straight to inspect Kendall's flat stomach.

"You're still not pregnant?" Agnes sighed heavily. Her face dropped in deep disappointment before she swiftly pivoted, masking the letdown with a polite facade. "It's alright. Try again next month."

Though seemingly unblaming on the surface, the heavy words physically wrapped around Kendall's throat like a suffocating curse. A simple sentence was all it took to remind Kendall of her place. This marriage was never built on equal ground.

In the beginning, Kendall used to diligently, exhaustingly prepare her body for pregnancy every single month. She endured the endless tracking cycles, the painful hormone injections, and the quiet anxiety, foolishly believing that Agnes genuinely cared for her well-being as a granddaughter. She thought the older woman just wanted a big, happy family to cherish.

That pathetic illusion shattered two years ago.

Kendall remembered the exact afternoon. She had been walking down the grand hallway when she accidentally overheard Agnes speaking coldly to the family butler. The matriarch's calculating voice still echoed in her nightmares.

'I only agreed to their marriage solely because I desperately wanted her to physically bear our family a descendant. Her grandfather owes us a life, so it has to be paid back with a life as well. I can only officially acknowledge that the debt is finally paid after a child is born.'

Standing in the grand living room now, staring at Agnes's expectant face, Kendall felt the familiar chill of that traumatic memory wash over her. She was merely a vessel. A transactional tool used to settle an old blood debt. The suffocating pressure of Agnes’s demand for an heir pressed down heavily on her shoulders, leaving her trapped in a gilded cage.