But when I had given it to Oliver, he had wrinkled his nose and tossed it aside.

"It's ugly and smells bad. Don't give me this stuff again," Oliver had said.

That day, I had cried for a long time, nursing my pricked fingers from the countless times the needle had jabbed me.

But now, it didn't matter anymore.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door to find Lillian's bright, cheerful face smiling back at me.

Lillian beamed at me, saying, "Scarlett, I'm here to help Mr. Pettyfer with his jacket.

"So, how was the cioppino and milkshake last night? Did you like them?"

The satisfaction in Lillian's smile was blatant. I turned to hand her the jacket, my expression blank, but my gaze caught the dark hickey on her neck.

Paired with her overly shy grin, it was both beautiful and tempting.

Clearly, things had heated up between them last night.

"Not great," I replied, putting on a disinterested facade.

"Really? I thought it was quite tasty!" Lillian chimed, twirling on her heels to leave.

Then, as if something had clicked, she turned back to remind me, "Mr. Pettyfer wants you to cook for him later. He said he's craving beef stew; make sure the beef is tender."

"Got it."

With a satisfied nod, she left.

I shut the door and returned to my room, starting to pack up my things.

Agreeing to cook was one thing; whether I would actually pull it off was another story altogether.

When Oliver walked in, I was busy packing my bags.

"The court doesn't open until tomorrow. You can put on your show then," Oliver teased, glancing at my phone on the table, reaching for it as if to unlock it.

"Did you change your passcode?"

I had switched it from his birthday to mine, and now he couldn't get in.

"Yep."

He chuckled dismissively, thinking I was just being petty, and turned to head to the kitchen.

Then, his voice came from the kitchen. "Scarlett, didn't I ask Lillian to tell you to make beef stew?

"I'm starving. If you're not cooking, what do you expect me to do?"

I didn't even look up. "Order takeout!"

His frustration was palpable. "Scarlett! You know I can't eat that junk from outside! I was trying to have a decent conversation, but you keep this up! Who are you trying to annoy?"

I zipped up my backpack and fixed him with a steady gaze. "Why should I do what you say? Besides, you seemed to enjoy that street food last night."

His expression froze. "I was just accompanying her..."