Chapter 9: The Billionaire in an Apron

"It's getting late. You should leave," Serenity said, looking at the grandfather clock. It was 6:00 PM.

They were now in Serenity's high-end apartment. She had brought the kids home, hoping Jackson would go back to his villa. But he followed them all the way to the living room.

Jackson took off his suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the sofa worth $5,000. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing his muscular forearms.

"The contract says I have visitation rights," Jackson checked his watch. "It's dinner time. I'm hungry. And I bet my children are too."

"We can order pizza," Serenity frowned.

"Pizza is junk food. Growing children need nutrition," Jackson walked straight towards the kitchen. He looked around the fridge like he was inspecting a factory. "I will cook."

Serenity, Alex, and Mia stood in a row, staring at his back.

"Does he know how to cook?" Alex whispered to his mom, his eyes suspicious.

"I... I don't think so," Serenity replied honestly. "The only thing he knows how to make is a reservation."

Inside the kitchen.

Jackson found a pack of spaghetti and some tomatoes. How hard can it be? he thought. Cooking is just chemistry and timing.

Ten minutes later.

"Cough! Cough!"

Thick black smoke poured out of the kitchen. The fire alarm started beeping.

"Daddy!" Mia screamed, covering her ears.

Serenity rushed into the kitchen. "Jackson! Turn off the stove!"

Jackson was holding a pan, looking flustered for the first time in his life. The garlic in the pan had turned into charcoal.

"I... I calculated the heat wrong," Jackson muttered, his face smudged with soot. He looked like a defeated general.

Serenity sighed. She opened the window to let the smoke out.

"Step aside, CEO Sterling," Serenity pushed him gently. "Before you burn down my house."

She took the pan from him. "You wash the vegetables. Can you at least do that?"

Jackson nodded seriously. "Yes."

He stood by the sink, washing tomatoes with the intense focus of a diamond cutter. Water splashed onto his expensive shirt, turning the fabric transparent and clinging to his chest muscles.

Serenity tried not to look, but the kitchen was small. The air was filled with a strange, domestic intimacy.

"You need an apron," Serenity noticed the mess he was making.

She grabbed a pink floral apron—the only one she had.

"Put this on."

Jackson looked at the frilly pink fabric. His eyebrows twitched. "Pink?"

"Take it or leave it," Serenity smirked. She enjoyed seeing the powerful man humbled.

Jackson sighed and put the loop over his head. But the strings were behind his back, and his arms were too muscular to reach comfortably.

"Help me," he turned his back to her.

Serenity hesitated.

She stepped closer. She reached out her hands, wrapping them around his waist to grab the strings.

For a second, it looked like a back-hug.

She could feel the heat radiating from his back. He smelled like expensive cologne and burnt garlic. The scent was dizzying.

Jackson stiffened. He could feel her soft hands brushing against his waist. Her breath hit the back of his neck.

The kitchen went silent.

"Done," Serenity tied the knot quickly and pulled away as if she had been burned. "Now chop the tomatoes."

The rest of the cooking session was chaotic but surprisingly functional.

Half an hour later.

Dinner was served. Spaghetti Bolognese. (Mostly cooked by Serenity, vegetables chopped by Jackson).

The four of them sat at the dining table. It was a bizarre sight. The twins, the beautiful mother, and the billionaire father wearing a pink apron.

"It looks... okay," Mia poked the pasta with her fork. She took a bite. Her eyes lit up. "Yummy! Did Daddy make this?"

"We made it together," Jackson corrected her gently, wiping a spot of sauce from Mia's cheek.

Alex took a bite, chewed slowly, and swallowed. "Not bad. At least not poisonous."

That was the highest compliment coming from Alex.

Jackson smiled. A genuine, warm smile reached his eyes.

He looked at the two kids eating, and then at Serenity, who was quietly drinking water across the table.

For five years, he had eaten alone in Michelin-star restaurants. The food was exquisite, but cold.

Tonight, eating this simple pasta in a small apartment, he felt... full.

"Thank you," Jackson said suddenly, looking at Serenity.

Serenity paused. "For what? Saving the pasta?"

"For raising them so well," Jackson’s voice was low and sincere. "And for... not kicking me out tonight."

Serenity gripped her glass tighter. She wanted to say something mean, to remind him of the past. But looking at the tomato sauce on his chin and the pink apron on his chest, her heart softened.

Just a little bit.

"Don't get used to it," she muttered, looking away. "Wash the dishes before you leave."

Jackson chuckled. The ruthless King of Business stood up obediently and began to clear the table.

"Yes, Madam."

---