Chapter 338: Oliver’s Gift

By the time the final plates disappeared into her spatial dimension, and the finally tally was posted, the results sent a quiet shockwave through the room. Neither Renzo nor Philippe had taken the top score for the day—an unexpected dark horse had managed to snatch the lead.

April leaned her elbow on the table, nudging Emily’s shoulder with a teasing glance.

"Uh oh," April giggled softly, her eyes sparkling with light amusement. "It looks like your dearest Philippe has a new competitor."

Emily’s cheeks instantly flushed a sweet, deep pink. She adjusted her glasses hastily, clutching her clipboard tight against her chest to hide her burning face.

"I... well..." Emily stammered, looking down at her neatly organized scoring sheets. "It’s normal for wins and losses in competitions. It’s still far from over—the final day will decide it all."

April let out a genuine, fond laugh. Emily had been completely bewitched by the passionate chef, it seemed, yet she hadn’t allowed her personal feelings for Philippe to bias her assessment of the dishes for a single second. Every remark she gave was fair, precise, and untainted by favoritism. Pure at heart, through and through, without a trace of selfishness.

"Fair enough," April murmured softly, looking at her sister with warmth before turning her gaze back to the five men still silently occupying the suite.

Nat was watching the exchange with an idle, dangerous smirk, while Xavier subtly cleared his throat, his chest puffing out just a fraction at April’s rare, genuine laughter. Alexander swirled the water in his glass, his dark eyes fixed on her lightened mood, and Oliver made a final, sharp note in his tablet. Samuel stood behind her chair like an immovable shadow, his stoic face utterly unreadable.

"Well, gentlemen," April said, sliding her chair back as the click of her heels sounded against the floor once again. "That concludes today’s schedule. Try not to tear each other apart in the hallway."

"Miss April," Oliver suddenly spoke up, his voice cutting through the ambient rustle of chairs. "I... prepared something for you."

April paused, her hand resting on the back of her chair as she turned to look at him. The Oliver Baxter? Preparing something for her? Now, that was truly surprising.

"Heh. Let’s hope it’s not a set of bandages and aspirin," Nat remarked, a low, rumbling chuckle escaping his chest.

Oliver’s jaw tightened subtly at Nat’s jab, but he completely ignored him, keeping his dark, intense gaze locked onto April.

"Ignore the noise from the peanut gallery," Oliver drawled, his voice steady and clinical, though a faint, telltale pink dusted the very tips of his ears. "Excuse me for a second,"

He stood up and stepped outside the suite for a few seconds, leaving the room in a heavy, speculative silence. When he returned, he was holding a plain shoe box wrapped in matte black paper.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed instantly at the sight of the box, his posture going rigid, while Alexander’s eyebrows arched in silent, razor-sharp disdain. Even Samuel’s stoic expression flickered with a quiet, icy focus from behind April’s chair, his gaze fixed on Oliver’s hands.

April tilted her head, her eyes glittering with genuine intrigue. Oliver—the man who rationalized every heartbeat with medical textbooks and refused to acknowledge a single human emotion—had bought her a gift?

"Don’t get any dramatic ideas," Oliver said smoothly, placing the box onto the edge of the table and removing the lid with meticulous precision. "It is merely a practical, aesthetic adjustment. I noticed your earlier discomfort in those standard stilettos."

Inside lay a stunning pair of clear acrylic, high-heeled sandals with delicate, barely-there straps—shoes designed to give the illusion of absolute weightlessness, creating an unbroken, seamless line from the tip of the toe all the way up the leg.

Oliver’s eyes flicked briefly toward her legs, a quiet, analytical heat settling behind his lenses. Ever since he had seen her earlier in those transparent black stockings and tight pencil skirt, a strange, unprecedented variable had lodged itself in his mind. He was just beginning to realize—and silently study—his sudden, intense fixation on her legs.

The arch of her foot, the curve of her calves, the smooth line of her thighs... it was a fascination he couldn’t yet fully classify, but he knew one thing for certain: if she was going to wear heels, her legs deserved to be properly accentuated and fully appreciated.

"These are crafted with an ergonomic, shock-absorbing base," Oliver explained, his voice taking on that familiar, clinical tone as he rationalized his underlying motive. "The invisible design eliminates visual clutter, allowing the natural proportion, structure, and length of your legs to be remarkably pronounced. It is the only scientifically acceptable way to elevate your posture without compromising the visual appeal of your lower limbs."

April blinked, a sudden, subtle startle passing through her mind. What is with this newfound obsession with my legs?

"Hey, Doc," Nat drawled, leaning back with a dark, dangerous grin as his eyes locked onto the doctor. "You sneaking peeks at her legs? What, are you some kind of closet pervert?"

Oliver didn’t rise to the provocation. He simply adjusted his glasses with rigid, effortless composure. "I merely admire what deserves to be admired. It is a matter of anatomical appreciation, not something as crude as casual perversion."

As the two of them began to bicker again, April looked down at the sleek, transparent heels resting in the box.

Her mind immediately shifted to the System Quest. Oliver’s trust level was still not high enough for him to appear on her client tab—the only man in her immediate orbit who she didn’t have wrapped around her fingers.

He had previously claimed that trust was far too ’human’ and volatile a concept for a man of science to rely on. But... he was no longer acting as rigid.

If I accept these shoes from him, April thought silently, will it break down that clinical wall just a little more? Will it push his trust over the line?

She had a quest to complete, after all. And besides, accepting a pair of shoes from a doctor who was hopelessly trying to rationalize his own burgeoning fetish was hardly a big deal.

"They’re quite unique," April said, cutting smoothly through the rising tension in the room. She reached out, running a slender finger over the smooth, invisible strap. She looked up at Oliver, a faint, knowing curve touching her lips. "Thank you, Oliver."

A subtle, unmistakable flicker of satisfaction flashed across Oliver’s face behind his glasses, the pink on the tips of his ears deepening just a fraction as he inclined his head. "A wise decision, Miss April. Your posture will thank me."

"Then..." she looked up at him. "Will you help me try them on?"