Chapter 72.1

Chapter 72.1

“It’s not like today’s the only day. You can treat me to dinner some other time.”

Andre’s thick eyebrows twitched—visibly, and not in a friendly way.

Says who?

Seunghyuk took a sip of wine and casually raised his glass toward Andre.

“The wine’s excellent.”

Andre gave the barest of nods, clearly begrudging it.

Despite being treated like an unwelcome guest, Seunghyuk stayed calm, polite—even composed. That only made it worse. The fact that there was nothing to criticize about him was somehow more irritating.

Just then, Chef Noel entered the dining room himself, pushing a cart and wearing a tall, pristine chef’s hat. He was here to serve the main course: steak.

Andre let out a silent sigh. Ever since the welcome party last fall, the Lafayette residence had been like a tomb—dead silent. And now, for the first time in ages, they had guests the staff had never even seen before. He could already imagine the flurry of gossip that would be flying around the kitchen tonight.

Chef Noel placed a plate in front of Miran and began explaining the dish in English, laced with a thick French accent. Miran nodded and smiled brightly, even though it was obvious she didn’t understand a word. She responded with a deep Korean-style bow and cheerful gratitude.

“Thank you so much!”

Andre added helpfully, in Korean, “It’s filet mignon with a red wine reduction.”

Miran’s eyes widened as she looked down at the plate, the rich, dark red sauce pooled beneath the steak.

“You poured red wine on the steak?”

Andre quickly covered his mouth with his fist, stifling a laugh. Chef Noel, who had just begun setting down Andre’s plate, flinched. The plate landed with a soft clatter, and a few droplets of sauce splashed onto the table.

Startled, Chef Noel grabbed a napkin and wiped the table in a hurry, muttering apologies in French.

[Ooh, lala! Pardon!]

[Pas de problème.]

Andre responded coolly. At that, Chef Noel wiggled his graying brows theatrically above his frog-like, bulging eyes.

[Mais alors, elle est très très belle, n’est-ce pas? (Well now, she’s very, very beautiful, isn’t she?)]

[Va-t’en, Chef Noël. (Get lost, Chef Noël.)]

The chef burst into loud laughter, baring his teeth, and finally retreated from the room.

As soon as he was gone, Miran asked, “Did he just call him Chef ‘Nyuem’? Is that the chef you said taught you how to cook?”

“Yeah.”

She glanced down at her plate and scrunched her brow a little.

“…I guess Chef ‘Nyuem’ really likes pouring wine on things.”

Andre couldn’t hold back—he laughed out loud. She must have remembered that time in the camper van, when he splashed white wine into a hot pan while sautéing shrimp.

Maybe still wary about how it would taste, she hesitated. Andre pulled her plate toward him and cut into the filet’s edge. Just as she ordered—well done. Chef Noel would probably be horrified, calling it a waste of good beef, but Miran couldn’t handle meat that was even slightly pink.

“It’s well done. Eat it. You won’t taste the wine, so don’t worry.”

He pushed the plate back to her, and she beamed, scooping up the piece he’d cut and popping it happily into her mouth.

Across the table, Seunghyuk had been quietly observing them, curiosity in his eyes. He finally gave in and asked:

“So… how do you two know each other?”

Caught off guard, Miran started choking on her steak. She grabbed her water and downed half the glass in one go. Flushed and visibly flustered, she darted a glance toward Andre, almost as if asking for help.

It was a complicated story—one that didn’t lend itself well to casual dinner conversation. There was no reason to spell it out just to feed someone’s idle curiosity.

Andre met Seunghyuk’s eyes with a cold stare.

“Why do you want to know?”

Seunghyuk, now slicing into his steak, took a moment to choose his words.

“Miran just said you were someone she knew, but you two seem… closer than I expected. Though now that I think about it, I guess it’s a personal question. No need to answer.”

Seunghyuk gave a casual shrug, as if brushing it off.

‘Someone she just knows?’

Andre’s mood soured instantly. He didn’t turn his head, but his eyes slid sharply toward Miran. She kept her head down and stabbed her asparagus with a fork.

“It’s been so long since I ate this, I forgot what it’s called. What was it again… ‘aspasugus’?”

“Asparagus.”

Watching her nibble it carefully while sneaking glances at him, the irritation that had welled up in Andre’s chest began to deflate, like a balloon losing air. With a quiet sigh, he slid a few spears of his own asparagus onto her plate. She grinned at him, and, defeated, Andre let out a quiet snort of laughter.