From Neglected Wife to CEO’s Obsession novel Chapter 181

“What a thing to say. Seriously, is he just asking for trouble?”

Elliot is allergic to women? Really? Then what about me—the girl who once puked all over him—or Marian, who’s been looking after him for twelve years? Are we not women? Funny, I never saw him break out in hives around us.

Rich people really do love to complicate things.

“Then let’s do it my way. If Mr. Swanson doesn’t like it, I’ll just take my food and eat at another table.”

It wasn’t that I thought I was special. Someone like me had no right to act spoiled, and honestly, there was nothing to be spoiled about.

It just seemed like such a small thing. Any guy with half a backbone wouldn’t make a big deal out of it.

Elliot’s face darkened, his good looks sharpening with irritation. He shot Blake a chilly look, then turned to glare at Ryan with eyes cold enough to make you shiver. Finally, he said, short and to the point, “We eat together.”

The food came quickly. No one ordered drinks—we all just wanted to finish up and get back on the road before it got too late.

I asked for a bigger bowl, dumped my rice in, and mixed it up with the eggplant and potato stew, making sure to stir in all the garlicky bits and little pieces of seasoning. I scooped up a big bite, brought it to my mouth, and closed my eyes as I tasted it.

The flavors were so familiar—warm and comforting—and for a second, under the gentle light, it felt like I’d slipped back in time to when I was a kid.

Back then, Dad was just a college teacher, and he and Mom kept a tiny vegetable patch in the yard. Every summer, the eggplants would ripen—deep purple and shiny, swinging in the breeze like little curved knives.

Dad would pick them fresh, and Mom would wash and chop the eggplants and potatoes into small pieces, cook them until they were soft, then let them simmer with water. She’d sprinkle in chopped green peppers, scallions, and garlic, and we’d mix it all into steaming rice. The smell alone could make your mouth water.

That’s why, every summer in college, I’d always find myself craving that little diner near campus—they made it just like Mom did.

I grew up in an ordinary family and lived a simple life. Naturally, I loved plain, home-style food.

It had nothing to do with how much money I made later or how far I’d gotten in life. It was pure nostalgia—this deep, bone-deep longing for my childhood and where I came from.

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