Chapter 0178


    A few minutester, Anton’s hands are washed, his long hair is pulled back, and an apron is covering


    his grimy clothes. Karl, John, and I are sitting on stools on the opposite side of the counter while Anton


    inspects each ingredient carefully, like he’s preparing to build something magnificent.


    Karl clears his throat, clearly itching to say something snarky but holding back for my sake. “So, Anton,


    are you gonna cook this mystery dish? Or was all that just talk?”


    Anton smirks, picking up a chef’s knife with a familiarity to his mannerisms that leaves me somewhat


    taken aback. “Just watch.”


    The room falls silent. John moves closer to get a better view, while Karl and I shoot each other a


    nce, half out of respect, half out of disbelief. Anton’s fingers fly through the air, chopping onions,


    mincing garlic, and handling the ck truffles with an expertise that makes my jaw drop.


    “How did you...?” John begins, but Anton silences him with a raised finger.


    “Patience, my friend.”


    I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s not just cooking; it’s like he’s performing in front of an audience, a


    well-practiced show that he’s been putting on over and over again for decades now. It’s both


    fascinating and overwhelming at the same time. I could only ever dream of being as skilled as he is.


    The room starts to fill with the scent of garlic and onions cooking in olive oil, intermingling with the


    earthy aroma of the truffles. My mouth waters uncontrobly, and I shoot Karl a nce. His eyes meet


    mine, and in that instant, I see the walls of his skepticism crack, if only a little.


    Anton looks up from the stove, his eyes locking onto mine. “Would you pass me the white wine, Miss


    Abby?”


    I hand it to him, and he pours a generous ssh into the pan. The liquid sizzles as it hits the hot


    surface, and Anton stirs, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.


    “Always deze the pan,” he mutters, more to himself than to us. “The real vor is in the ‘fond’—the


    little bits that are stuck to the bottom.”


    Minutes feel like seconds, and before we know it, Anton is sliding the pan off the stove, stepping back


    as if he’s an artist who has just unveiled a masterpiece.


    “Et vo,” he says with a flourish. “Now, who wants to taste? Karl? Why don’t you try first?”


    Karl lets out a small huff and stands, although I can tell he’s trying not to act too impressed. He steps


    up to the counter and stabs the fork into the pasta, then lifts it to his mouth and takes a hesitant bite.


    His eyes widen, his face softening in a way I’ve never seen before as he slowly chews the food, raising


    his hand to cover his mouth. “Oh my god. That''s—That’s incredible.”


    John goes next, and his reaction is just as intense. “Excuse thenguage, but holy shit, man. That’s the


    best thing I’ve ever tasted. Abby, you’ve gotta try this.”


    I’mst, and as I step up to the counter, for some reason my heart is pounding.


    “Go on, Miss Abby,” Anton says, his voice soft, noticing my trepidation. “I think you’ll like it the most.”Exclusive content ? by N?(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.


    “See? Told you I knew what I was doing,” he says, setting the pan down and wiping his hands. Content


    belongs to Dr?мanоvels


    I’m speechless, floored by the sheer talent this man possesses. “Anton, you have to teach me how to


    cook like that. Will you? Please?”


    Anton’s eyes narrow, but not in a menacing way. More like he’s contemting something, deciding how


    much to reveal. Finally, he speaks.


    “Alright, I will teach you, Abby. But you should know—everythinges at a price.”