Chapter 4

Vivienne had laid out a full breakfast spread. She'd also dragged Vincent out of bed—he'd slept through the whole night, yet his dark circles looked just as bad as ever.

The whole family joined hands and sat around the table in an eerily synchronized silence, finishing their prayer.

"My darlings, I put a lot of work into this breakfast. You're going to eat every single bite and leave nothing behind."

Vivienne smiled warmly, her amber eyes soft and bright. She looked every bit the gentle, approachable housewife.

Vincent glanced down at the charred, blackened fried eggs on his plate.

"Honey, I already ate my fill in a dream just now. Can I sit this one out?"

Vivienne slowly turned her head to meet Vincent's faintly pleading gaze.

She grabbed his jaw with one hand, snatched up the blackened egg with the other, and drove her fist straight into his mouth, stuffing both fist and egg inside.

When she pulled her hand back out, Vincent was already red in the face and dry-heaving.

Vivienne calmly handed him a napkin, then turned to Silas, who hadn't touched his silverware.

"Silas, you're a big boy now. Do you want Mommy to feed you too?"

Silas's stiff little face twitched slightly.

In a matter of seconds, he weighed the risks of food poisoning against the danger of having a fist shoved down his throat.

The next second, Silas picked up his fork and knife. Without changing his expression, he stuffed the egg—which looked like pure poison—into his mouth and swallowed it whole without chewing.

Honestly, food that tasted like garbage was better not lingered over.

Having dealt with the father-son duo, Vivienne took a deep breath.

Vivienne was no cook. The family had always survived entirely on takeout.

But to keep up the chef persona she'd built for Ivy's sake, she had no choice but to force herself into the kitchen.

The two men could be handled with more forceful methods.

But Ivy was her soft, sweet-smelling little girl.

If she really couldn't eat it... they'd just order in.

But when Vivienne turned around, she found Ivy already digging in, fork scraping messily across the plate, shoveling eggs into her mouth.

Ivy's tiny mouth stretched wide open. She stuffed the blackened egg inside like she was tasting something rare and wonderful, her lips smeared with dark, charred bits.

She puffed out her little cheeks and chewed with everything she had.

These eggs must have come from a bad batch.

Good thing Mommy was such an amazing cook—she could turn even rotten eggs into something worth eating.

Stretching her neck, Ivy swallowed the bite and broke into a huge grin, both thumbs up.

"Mommy's the best! The eggs are so yummy!"

Ivy's little white teeth had black specks on them. She giggled, her clear green eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

Ivy wasn't lying.

Even if Mommy's eggs were a little bitter, they were still the most delicious thing in the world.

In her past life with the Shaws, on a good day she got cold leftovers. Most of the time, she ate spoiled scraps dug out of the trash.

When the trash was emptied, she'd have to fight the yard Rottweiler for dog food.

Across two lifetimes, Ivy had never once sat down to a proper meal.

She'd never known what good food actually tasted like.

But right now, in her eyes, a meal made by Mommy's own hands—whatever it tasted like—was delicious.

Watching Ivy eat with her face smeared in black, Vivienne's pupils contracted sharply, trembling.

Ivy actually said her cooking was good?

Vivienne pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might leap straight out of her throat.

She narrowed her eyes and looked at Ivy's satisfied little face, feeling like this was the happiest moment of her life.

"You two—stop eating."

Vivienne's expression went cold. She scraped everything left on Vincent and Silas's plates onto Ivy's.

Since Ivy liked it, she should eat more. Vivienne would make it for her every single day.

As for the father-son pair, they could sort themselves out.

After several days straight of dark-cuisine torture, the already fragile Ivy looked even more worn down.

Vincent and Silas didn't dare say a word. Vivienne was the first to notice something was wrong and switched all three daily meals back to takeout.

At the dinner table.

Silas stared at the burgers and fries he used to hate most. His eyes lit up with the hunger of a starving wolf cub.

After days without real food, he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.

Vivienne handed out dinner to each plate, then announced the decision she and Vincent had made.

"Silas and Ivy are big enough now. Daddy and I have signed you both up for preschool. You'll be starting tomorrow morning."

Ivy's mouth was stuffed with fries, her eyes shining bright.

She'd never been to preschool before!

In her past life, after she was returned to the Shaws, her birth parents found her too rough around the edges. Sending her to Chloe's fancy preschool would embarrass the family.

So for a long time, Ivy was locked in a tiny room at home, practicing how to walk and talk properly.

No teachers, no kids her age. She lived like something pitiful crawling around in the dark.

"Yay!"

Ivy's clear, sweet voice rang out right away.

Silas looked at her bright, clueless little face and sighed. He wanted to warn her that preschool was full of idiots.

But he was finally eating real food again, and he couldn't bring himself to stop chewing.

Early morning.

It was Ivy's first day of preschool, so Vivienne took it seriously. She even dragged Vincent—a natural night owl—out of bed to drive them to school.

Vincent's car had decent room inside, but the interior was plain, almost worn, with a faint strange smell.

Being a hitman meant occasionally moving bodies around. A flashy luxury car would draw too much attention.

Along the way, Ivy looked around with wide, curious eyes.

Until the car pulled up in front of Sacred Sprouts Preschool.

Ivy stared in disbelief at the preschool—as grand as a palace, stretching further than she could see.

A place this fancy must cost an absolute fortune in tuition, right?

Ivy's little face, pressed against the car window, slowly went cold.

The family she'd chosen were ordinary, everyday people.

In Ivy's eyes, they didn't make much money.

Mommy worked hard as a chef, Daddy drove a train, and their car and house were both run-down.

A regular family raising three kids probably scraped by mostly on welfare.

How could they possibly afford a preschool like this?

Silas climbed out first. But when Vivienne turned back to take Ivy's hand, Ivy quietly pulled it away.

"Let Little Brother go by himself."

"I know we don't have a lot of money. Mommy can just find me a cheaper preschool. I'm not picky. And if there really isn't one, I don't have to go at all."

Ivy's little face fell, looking utterly dejected.

Vivienne's eyes wavered. She grabbed Ivy by the hand and pulled her out of the car.

"Ivy, be good. We have more than enough money for your schooling."

"Just behave yourself at school. That's all Mommy asks."

Vivienne leaned back against Vincent's chest, watching the two children walk away, her eyes going slightly wet.

"Darling, we finally have a normal child in this family."

She covered her mouth, tears spilling out before she could stop them.

But Vincent, with his panda-dark eyes, glanced down at the million-dollar watch on his wrist—the one he'd lifted off a president's hand last year.

"But darling, something's really off with Ivy's head."

"She actually thinks we're short on money."