Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase

Chapter 503:

Leaning on one elbow, Chris tilted his head and squinted slightly.

“Why’ve you been treating me so well lately?”noveldrama

A flick of her brow lifted as she asked, “You don’t like it?”

Chris’ response came without pause, his head bobbing quickly. “Yes, I love it. I really do.”

Maia’s eyes dropped to the bowl on the table, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Then prove it — empty that bowl. Not a single drop left behind.”

With a grin and the confidence of a man on a mission, Chris grabbed the spoon.

“This’ll be easy.”

He scooped a generous mouthful, gave it a soft blow to cool it down, then slowly brought it to his lips.

But the next second, his expression froze, and he almost spat out the soup.

His gaze dropped to the broth, eyes wide in disbelief, as if the bowl had betrayed him.

For something that smelled so incredible, the taste was completely off the rails.

Maia usually nailed every dish, but this… this was something else entirely.

He stirred the liquid cautiously, frowning as unfamiliar chunks floated to the surface — roots, herbs, maybe even twigs? What were these mystery ingredients?

Just recalling the flavor made his stomach twist. Getting it done might be harder than he thought.

A twitch played at the corner of Chris’ mouth, somewhere between amusement and despair.

From across the table, Maia picked up on his hesitation. “Why did you stop after just one bite?”

𝕋𝕣𝕦𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖: gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝕖𝗅𝕤⧽ⅽ𝗈𝗺

He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Might’ve gotten a little too cocky a minute ago.”

Her brow lifted in a skeptical arch. “What?”

Drawing in a breath like he was preparing for battle, Chris said, “Since my lovely wife poured her heart into this, I’m honor-bound to finish every last drop.”

That finally earned a nod of approval from Maia. “Good answer.”

With exaggerated resolve, Chris clamped his fingers over his nose and leaned in like a soldier marching to his doom. Each spoonful felt like a personal trial, stretching his taste tolerance to its breaking point.

As he swallowed, he kept encouraging himself inwardly, “She made this for me. It tastes like boiled socks, but this is love. This is devotion. I will survive.”

At last, after Chris had downed the entire bowl of herbal broth in a single gulp, his hands trembled as he slowly set the bowl aside. His complexion turned a shade paler, and tiny beads of sweat glistened across his forehead like morning dew on a winter leaf.

He looked utterly spent, as though that single bowl had wrung every drop of strength from his body.

Across the room, Maia watched him closely. His cheeks had turned a deep crimson from the strain of enduring the unpleasant taste, and despite herself, she let out a soft laugh.

Chris tried to return her smile, though it looked more like a grimace, and made an effort to rise and tidy up the kitchen. But Maia stopped him with a firm grip.

“You’ve taken the medicine. That’s enough for tonight — go and get some rest,” she said, her tone leaving no room for debate. “I’ll clean up here. As for the leftover herbs, toss them out next time. You wouldn’t know what to keep anyway.”

Chris froze for a moment, caught off guard. Was there going to be a next time? Was he expected to drink that dreadful concoction again? Maia, unconcerned with his reaction, simply carried on. After speaking, she picked up the dishes and headed into the kitchen.

Today’s broth had carried a potent twist — she’d added a particularly powerful herb to speed up his recovery.

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