Chapter 5: Making Breakfast

At the Atkinson Group

In Fletcher Atkinson's office, a man in his forties knelt on the plush carpet in front of a young man in his twenties. Tears streaked his weathered face as if he had just seen a long-lost savior.

Clutching the hem of the young man’s cheap trousers, Fletcher choked out, “Defender of the South… Am I dreaming? Is it really you?”

Kayden glanced down at him, his expression calm but firm. “Get up, Firefist. There’s no need for this.”

Fletcher hastily wiped his tears and rose, his movements clumsy with emotion.

“I… I need to know,” Fletcher stammered, his voice trembling. “What really happened back then? They told me they only found the bodies of our enemies and they could never find you. We thought you were gone for good…”

Kayden’s gaze shifted, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he said, “It’s a long story. I can’t explain it all right now. When the time comes, you’ll know.”

“Are you… are you the head of the Atkinson family now?”

Fletcher hesitated, struggling to collect himself.

“I am,” Fletcher admitted after a pause, his tone heavy. “After your… disappearance, I retired from the army. My family had been asking for my help for years, but I chose to stay and serve under you. When you were gone…” He faltered, swallowing hard. “I had no reason to stay. I took over the family business. But if you need me—just say the word. I’ll drop everything and return to the South with you.”

Fletcher’s sincerity was unmistakable. He might have lied to others, but never to Kayden. The man standing before him wasn’t just a commander; he was a legend—the one who had single-handedly secured the entire Seclela border, ensuring peace for the region. Serving under him had been a badge of honor.

Kayden waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not why I’m here. I need your help with something else.”

“Anything,” Fletcher said immediately. His voice was steady now, but his eyes still held a reverence that couldn’t be hidden. “Anything you need—I’m your soldier, always. I'll live for you and die for you. Just give me the word.”

Kayden’s lips quirked into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “It’s not that serious. I just need you to help my wife. You’ve developed some land in the north of the city, right? I want her to supply all the construction materials for the project. She needs this contract.”

Fletcher blinked, caught completely off guard. “Your wife?” he repeated, his voice slightly louder than he intended.

Kayden gave a small nod. “Yes. I got married three years ago.”

For a moment, Fletcher could only stare, his mouth slightly agape. Then he quickly recovered. “Of course. No problem at all. I’ll make all the arrangements.”

But even as he spoke, his mind swirled with questions. What woman in this world could possibly be worthy of this man?

That night.

Georgia sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted. Scarlett’s endless complaints had finally driven her to retreat, but sleep still eluded her.

She glanced at Kayden. He was lying on his side, eyes closed, breathing evenly. He had left the meeting room earlier that day, and she hadn’t seen him since. There were things she wanted to ask him—about his health, about where he’d been—but the words never seemed to come out.

Quietly, she moved closer to him, her eyes lingering on his face.

“Sometimes I wonder…” she murmured softly, almost to herself. “Why did Grandpa insist I should marry you? I could’ve had a great life, but because of you, I’m just a joke in Hiphia. I hate you for that. I hate that you don’t understand anything, that you never even try to make things easier for me.”

Her voice wavered, and her expression softened. “But… I pity you too. I pity that you don’t know who you really are. I wish I could understand you better. I wonder… what kind of person you’ll be when you finally remember everything.”

As she spoke, her hand reached out, brushing lightly against his face. It was a gentle, almost maternal gesture, as if she were trying to soothe a child. She had done this before—pouring her heart out to him in the quiet of the night. Back then, she thought he didn’t understand.

But now, Kayden understood everything.

His eyes snapped open, and his hand shot out, catching hers in a firm but gentle grip.

Georgia froze, her breath hitching.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice sharp with a mix of panic and embarrassment. She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip didn’t budge.

Kayden sat up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice calm but steady. “You’ll know what kind of person I am soon enough. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me all these years. From now on, I’ll protect you. I won’t let anyone bully you again.”

His words hit her like a bolt of lightning. She stared at him, speechless.

Had he… had he regained his memory?

Kayden lay back down, his expression unreadable. “Go to sleep,” he said simply. “I’ll handle the contract.”

Georgia stood there, rooted to the spot. Her mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. After a long moment, she quietly climbed into bed, her thoughts swirling.

That night, she barely slept.

The next morning.

When Georgia finally dragged herself out of bed, she found Kayden in the living room, emerging from the kitchen with two plates of steaming macaroni.

“You’re up,” he said casually. “Come eat.”

She blinked, caught off guard. Kayden never cooked. The man she had known before couldn’t even boil water.

Still, she sat down at the table, eyeing the plate in front of her.

Kayden was already eating, his focus entirely on his food. When he got up to wash his plate, Georgia hesitantly took a bite.

Her eyes widened. It was… delicious.

She quickly finished the entire plate, her unease momentarily forgotten.

Just then, her phone rang. She picked it up, and Elizabeth’s sharp voice cut through the line.

“Georgia, have you made up your mind? Are you divorcing that joke or not?”

Georgia’s grip tightened on the phone. She glanced at Kayden, who was calmly washing dishes in the kitchen.

“No,” she said softly. “I’m not divorcing him.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Then Elizabeth’s voice returned, colder than ever.

“Fine. But I’m giving you one week. If you can’t secure the contract with the Atkinson Group by then, you’ll either divorce him and marry Mr. Scott, or leave the Adams family for good—with that fool of yours.”

The line went dead.

Georgia lowered the phone, her heart pounding. One week. She only had one week.