[Good grief... that was a knockout blow from Vivienne. She’s brutally ruthless.]
[Vivienne Blackwood, you wicked woman—how could you treat my Emma like that? She was nothing but kind to you!]
[Hahaha, I’m so sorry, Emma’s fans, but I couldn’t help myself. Did you see your darling’s face when she realized no one cared? Haha... she looked like she’d swallowed something bitter.]
[Meanwhile, I was watching that handsome guy in the shadows... Is it just me, or has he been staring at Vivienne since the moment she walked in?]
[You mean Leo Thompson? Impossible. He’s always been known as the devil of the racetrack—someone who cares for neither women nor men. A cold man like him sees nothing but his car. He wouldn’t be swayed by mere beauty.]
Fortunately, the embarrassment Emma Walker felt didn’t last long.
Once the host confirmed that everyone had arrived, he stepped forward and began outlining the rules.
"First of all, we warmly welcome all our distinguished participants to the show."
"Everyone already knows this season’s guests, so without further delay, let me introduce the content of the upcoming episodes over the next month."
His tone was confident and professional, carrying easily across the room.
"All of you will be living in this house. You will work hard for your cooking ingredients from tomorrow. As today is excluded. We have several interesting challenges and games for you. We hope you enjoy your stay here."
Emma forgot her earlier embarrassment as she asked as politely and naturally as she could, "Do we have to cook for ourselves?"
"Yup," replied the host.
Emma Walker thought for a while. She was not the greatest cook ever, but at least if the food was edible no one would embarrass her on camera... right?
So she raised her hand quickly, feigning a hint of shyness.
"I can cook a little. You can count on me."
[As expected of our goddess—she’s not just beautiful and smart, she can cook too. The dream of every man.]
[I’ve been an Emma fan for years... I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cook before?]
[What do you know? Emma has never done a live broadcast before. Of course, she hasn’t had the chance to show that side of herself.]
[Well, to be honest, none of the others seems suitable. Camila Hall once said she has her own private chef, and those men... well, I can’t imagine any of them cooking.]
[I think Vivienne does know how to cook]
That last comment sank without a trace.
Ultimately, Emma was selected as the cook.
No one objected.
It was obvious the male guests weren’t the type who either knew how—or cared—to cook.
As for Camila Hall, the word "cooking" simply didn’t belong anywhere near her life.
Her meals had always been prepared by her family’s personal chef.
As for Vivienne Blackwood...
She was far too lazy to bother. Even if she could cook, she had no intention of lifting a finger. Fortunately, Emma had volunteered, sparing her the effort.
Vivienne slowly closed her eyes.
The exhaustion from travel, combined with the relentless physical pain gnawing at her body, had drained what little strength she had left.
After returning from the mission worlds, she had discovered that many of the injuries and lingering pain she suffered there had followed her back into this one.
Before the system disappeared, it had told her these were side effects—that they would fade with time, and within less than a year, her body would return to normal.
Vivienne had said nothing in response.
Perhaps, once upon a time, she would have hesitated. But after dying over and over again... after enduring more pain than most could comprehend...
She simply no longer cared.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
Even now, as she sat there, perfectly composed, not a flicker betraying her, every muscle in her body trembled under a kind of agony that defied imagination.
That was why she relied heavily on potent painkillers—drugs strong enough to numb even this.
"Miss Vivienne, could you come help us?"
Vivienne lifted her head and looked at the girl standing before her—a delicate, pretty young woman whose shy demeanor was tinged with a trace of fear.
Vivienne had no real interest in her... or in playing along with any of this.
But she had signed a contract.
Which meant she had a job to do this month.
Ignoring the dull, throbbing pain in her skull, Vivienne rose smoothly to her feet, her posture steady and effortless.
"Fine. Just tell me what to do."
With that, she turned and walked into the fully equipped kitchen, her steps graceful and assured.
The others followed—not out of willingness, but because the host had handed each of them a slip of paper, assigning a secret and urgent task.
And so, the small kitchen quickly filled with an assortment of handsome men and beautiful women.
"Vivienne, can you cook?"
"What’s your specialty?"
"Have you ever cooked for someone before?"
Vivienne stood at the sink, calmly washing vegetables with deliberate slowness, ignoring the barrage of questions flooding her ears.
Beside her, Arthur was washing fruit, his mouth never once ceasing its chatter.
Suddenly—
A sharp scream cut through the air, followed by the clatter of something hitting the floor.
"I’m not doing this! What the hell is this? Does the director think we’re fishermen? How am I supposed to kill and clean fish?!"
Emma Walker—who had been so confident in her cooking just moments ago—was now shrieking. She clutched her hand, her index finger bearing a barely visible drop of blood.
Several crabs and freshly caught fish thrashed wildly across the floor, scattering in every direction.
[What the hell is this chaos? Is this model Emma stupid? She tried to cut crabs without even touching them! The knife in her hand nearly hit Camila, and she didn’t even apologize—she just threw a tantrum like a spoiled princess!]
Camila sighed softly.
"Emma... didn’t you say you could cook? Don’t you know how to handle seafood?"
Her tone wasn’t harsh—if anything, it sounded like a simple, harmless question.
But to Emma, it felt like mockery.
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over in seconds. Then, with a choked sob, she turned and bolted out of the kitchen.
Everyone: "..."
[Hahaha, this is hilarious. Look at how Camila Hall just froze in place after Emma ran off crying. She looks like she’s questioning her entire existence.]
[Well... that was anything but professional. I didn’t know Emma was like this in real life.]
[Of course you didn’t. This is her first live broadcast. Everything she’s done before—dramas, interviews—was pre-recorded.]
Camila blinked, clearly shaken.
"I... didn’t say anything harsh, did I?"
After that, an awkward silence fell over the kitchen.
Everyone stood still—looking at one another, unsure what to do next.
In one corner, Oscar Jones leaned against the wall, quietly sketching with a pen in hand, as if detached from the entire scene.
When he finally glanced up, there was something distant and unfocused in his gaze.
Hearing Camila’s question, he gave her a brief look—his eyes practically saying, This has nothing to do with me.
And then there was Leo Thompson.
At last, he stepped out of the shadows.
Sharp brows like drawn blades, green eyes, and golden hair—he looked every bit like a prince who could steal the breath from anyone who saw him.
Yet the chill that surrounded him made it difficult for anyone to approach.
He took up a position near Vivienne, occasionally casting her a deep, unreadable glance, while at other times scanning the room with quiet vigilance.
Seeing everyone frozen in place, Vivienne finally spoke:
"It doesn’t look like she’ll be coming back anytime soon. I’ll cook—if no one objects."