Chapter 470

Sebastian had been waiting for what felt like hours, yet Alexander’s fiancée remained conspicuously absent. He had gone through so much trouble just to get inside Alexander’s home—so where was she? Weren’t they supposed to be living together?

His eyes darted around the lavish penthouse, searching for any trace of a woman’s presence—a stray hairpin, a forgotten scarf, anything. But the space was immaculate, almost sterile in its perfection.

Just then, Alexander rose from his seat and casually rolled up his sleeves. "Make yourself at home," he said, already moving toward the kitchen.

Sebastian blinked. "Wait—where are you going? And how exactly am I supposed to make myself at home? Can I… look around?" He hesitated, testing the boundaries. If Alexander let him wander, he might finally catch a glimpse of the mysterious woman—or at least a photo of them together.

Alexander didn’t even glance back. "Feel free. Unless you’re afraid of triggering the security system again."

Sebastian stiffened, the memory of the electric shock still fresh. He rubbed his arm unconsciously. Who the hell installs an electric fence inside their own home?

Deciding self-preservation was more important than curiosity, he trailed after Alexander—only to freeze in the kitchen doorway.

Alexander was tying an apron around his waist.

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. "Y-You—" His voice cracked. This was more shocking than the damn fence. If he weren’t terrified of Alexander’s retaliation—or worse, his family’s wrath—he would’ve whipped out his phone and immortalized this moment for the world to see.

Alexander Kensington, CEO of Celestia Group, heir to one of the country’s most powerful families… wearing an apron and about to cook.

The internet would explode.

Alas, he valued his life too much.

Alexander smirked, as if reading his thoughts. "Since you’re just standing there, make yourself useful. Grab the tomatoes from the second compartment of the fridge."

Snapping out of his daze, Sebastian obeyed—only to gape at the contents of the refrigerator. It was stocked like a gourmet chef’s pantry: fresh produce, premium cuts of meat, exotic spices, even rare supplements.

This wasn’t the fridge of a man who ordered takeout every night.

Handing over the tomatoes, Sebastian couldn’t resist. "Did your private chef quit? Or did you finally scare him off?"

Alexander’s knife flashed as he began dicing. "I prefer cooking for myself."

Sebastian stared. Since when?

The mystery of Alexander’s fiancée was now rivaled by an even bigger one: Since when does Alexander Kensington cook?