Chapter 1The Second Chance Menu

My mother was a spoiled princess. I spent my whole life taking care of her.

Yet, when my father's mistress lunged at me with a knife, she didn't hesitate to step in front of me.

I woke up, and I was eight years old again.

She was admiring her freshly manicured nails, ordering me to make her dinner.

I silently cooked an eight-course meal with two soups.

She was shocked: "Did you poison it?"

I put some food in her bowl and said seriously: "I approve of you dating Uncle Julian."

* * *

Vivian exploded. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows knit together as she slammed her chopsticks onto the table. "Julian? What kind of nonsense is going on in that little head of yours?"

I: "..."

I silently handed her a clean pair of chopsticks.

She eyed me suspiciously. "You little brat, did you break something?"

I hesitated for a few seconds, then pulled the chopsticks back out of her hand.

She nodded knowingly: "I knew it. You're trying to prank me."

I opened my arms to her: "Mommy, hug."

Vivian was clearly freaked out. She stared at me in disbelief, skepticism written all over her beautiful face.

After a long pause, she poked my cheek with a long, manicured nail. "What are you babbling about? Go stew me some bird's nest soup."

My lips trembled.

I wanted to cry.

She froze, frantically grabbing a handful of napkins and throwing them at my face. "Hey, hey, what are you doing? trying to guilt-trip me?"

Just then.

The front door of the villa opened.

A tall, slender man stood silhouetted in the doorway.

The room fell instantly silent.

I stared at him quietly for a long time before opening my mouth: "Dad."

Vivian glanced at the man, snatched the chopsticks back from my hand, and started eating as if nothing happened.

The man walked in coldly, heading straight for the study upstairs.

As he passed the dining table, he paused slightly. "You don't need to go to the banquet tonight."

Slap. The chopsticks were slammed onto the table.

Vivian sneered, "Then who are you taking?"

My mother was breathtakingly beautiful. Before she married, she was the famous, vibrant beauty of the upper-class social circle. Even after marriage, her beauty hadn't faded a bit.

Natural beauty combined with high-end maintenance made her even more charming. Even now, angry as she was, she looked stunning.

But despite this, my father's gaze hadn't lingered on her for a long time.

The man frowned slightly.

He didn't answer her question, his steady steps carrying him upstairs.

As the study door closed.

Vivian threw the chopsticks.

The next second, she stood up to flip the table.

I watched her silently. At the last second, she stopped.

Vivian pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and smiled with an unreadable expression: "You're getting a new mom soon. Happy?"

I stared at her for two seconds, then walked up and snuffed out her cigarette.

She froze completely.

Then she screamed.

"Are you crazy? Why did you put out my cigarette?" She grabbed my hand. My fingertip was burned raw.

Her fingers trembled. She pulled out her phone to call the family doctor.

After hanging up, she gritted her teeth: "I swear, you watch too many cartoons and think you're made of steel?"

I whispered: "Don't smoke. It's bad for your health. And if you smoke too much, you won't be pretty anymore."

Vivian looked at me with complicated eyes while she looked for an ice pack. She huffed, "Even if your mom was ten times uglier, there still wouldn't be a woman more beautiful than your mom, got it?"

I endured the pain and looked at her quietly.

I thought so too.

Everyone in our circle thought so too.

But my dad fell in love with that plain-looking girl by his side.

Those uncles would whisper behind our backs: "Richard married such a beautiful wife, yet he doesn't cherish her. That's Vivian, the woman so many men dreamed of marrying back then."

But then they'd add: "But wild flowers always smell sweeter than house flowers. Plus, Vivian has a kid and isn't young anymore. It's understandable."

When their kids first whispered these things to me, I didn't understand.

I only heard "Dad" and "Mom," so I repeated every word to my mother.

Vivian's expression didn't change. She just rolled her eyes: "You're gossiping at such a young age, what a bright future you have. If you have time for this, go learn some more words."

But after I left, she would lock herself in her room, smoking and drinking.

The next day, she'd act as if nothing happened, booking spa appointments and ordering tonic soups from the kitchen.

Later on, I stopped repeating those words.