Chapter 101: A Contract To Destroy

"How can I even be sure you’re telling the truth?" she muttered, her voice muffled against the pillow before she finally turned her head to glare at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Men lie. Rich men lie even better. My uncle made all kinds of promises about taking care of me, and it was all just numbers on a ledger to him."

"If you don’t believe my words, then I’ll just have to show you," I replied smoothly, meeting her suspicious glare with total composure. "Trust isn’t built on speeches anyway, Patricia. It’s built on action. And I have all the time in the world to prove it."

I took a short pause, letting that sink in before gently shifting the focus back to her current reality. "But if your uncle is that wealthy, why were you working yourself to death at that restaurant for minimum wage?"

Patricia looked away, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaping her throat.

"Because I ran away," she admitted softly, staring out the window at the skyline. "I couldn’t stand being a ghost in his giant house anymore. I thought I could make it on my own... build something real with my own hands without his money chaining me down."

She pulled her knees up toward her chest under the blanket, looking smaller than ever in the oversized hospital gown.

"Turns out ’living on your own’ just means drowning in rent and working fifteen hours a day for a boss who treats you like trash," she whispered, her voice cracking with pure exhaustion. "Honestly... looking at where I ended up, maybe I was an idiot. Maybe I should have just stayed with my uncle and swallowed my pride."

She went completely still beneath my touch, looking down at our hands before slowly lifting her eyes to mine. The raw, defensive posture she’d held all morning cracked just a little further, revealing a quiet, long-buried ache.

"My dream?" she echoed, the word sounding almost foreign on her tongue. A small, self-deprecating smile touched her lips, but her eyes held a sudden, intense flicker of life—the latent 9.5 potential stirring just beneath the surface of her exhaustion.

"When I was little... before my parents passed, and long before I was hidden away in my uncle’s mansion... I used to watch my mother cook," she murmured softly, her voice barely louder than the hum of the heart monitor. "It wasn’t just about feeding people. She made food that could literally change someone’s mood. You could walk into her kitchen having the worst day of your life, and one bite of her creation would make you feel... safe. Like everything was going to be fine."

She swallowed hard, her fingers instinctively tightening just a fraction against mine.

"I wanted to build a sanctuary," Patricia admitted, looking straight into my eyes for the first time without a wall up. "A world-class culinary space where every dish tells a story, where flavor isn’t just fuel—it’s an experience. A place where I am the master of my own kitchen, creating dishes that nobody could ever replicate or take away from me."

Her voice dropped, laced with that lingering bitterness again. "But dreams cost money, Ethan. A lot of it. And right now, I don’t even own the apron I wear to work."

"You don’t need to worry about the cost," I replied, my grip on her hand firm and steady as the System interface flashed briefly in my mind, confirming her target parameters alignment. "You bring the talent and the vision. I bring the capital and the protection. From this second on, Patricia, you’re never going back to that kitchen."

Patricia shook her head, a heavy shadow returning to her face. "It’s not that simple, Ethan. I signed a contract when I was hired. I’m bound to that restaurant for another year, and if I break it, there’s a massive breach penalty fee that I can’t afford. The manager made sure of that. I can’t just walk away."

I smiled faintly, completely unbothered. "Contracts are just paper, Patricia. And paper tears very easily if you know where to apply the pressure."

An idea immediately sparked in my mind.

"We’re going to nullify that contract by the end of the day," I said smoothly. "I have a friend who happens to be an elite lawyer, and she can dismantle an abusive employment clause in her sleep—"

I paused mid-sentence, catching myself before the narrative got messy. A slight, knowing smirk touched my lips as I corrected myself with absolute nonchalance.

"—actually, correction. My girlfriend."

Patricia blinked, taking a second to process the casual bomb I had just dropped. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked at me, her mind clearly racing.

"Your... girlfriend?" she echoed, her voice laced with a mix of surprise and sudden realization. "You have a girlfriend who’s a top lawyer, and you’re using her to bail out a random waitress?"

"Well, I just really like helping people," I added casually, giving her a quick, reassuring wink that left her momentarily speechlessly staring after me.

Leaving her to process that, I stepped out of the hospital ward to meet with her attending doctor in the hallway. I got the full breakdown of her medical status—a heavy prescription for rest, high-nutrient dietary guidelines, and a strict warning against any physical stress or exhaustion over the coming weeks so she wouldn’t collapse again.

Once I handled all the paperwork and settled the remaining bills, Patricia was officially cleared for discharge.

I walked back into the room as she was pulling her coat on over her street clothes, looking significantly better, though still visibly frail.

"Everything’s signed and taken care of," I said, holding the door open for her. "Let’s get you out of here—we have a restaurant contract to destroy."

We drove down the road in my supercar, the engine humming smoothly. Patricia sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window as the city lights passed by.

"Can you just take me to my apartment?" she asked softly.

"Sure," I said, respecting her space without arguing.

I navigated through the streets and pulled up right outside her apartment building. It was a run-down place, and looking at the building, I hesitated. I knew she definitely wouldn’t want me coming inside right now, but it was clear she barely had basic stuff at home to take care of herself.

I needed a stylish way to give her some things and financial support without coming across like an overbearing boss or making her feel uncomfortable.

I turned in my seat, resting my arm on the steering wheel, and looked at her.

"Before you go in," I said with a calm smile, "you need to eat properly and rest up like the doctor said. Let me set you up with some basics so you don’t have to stress about running errands today."