Chapter 106

Miriam opened the door, and Jonathan stepped inside, his arms laden with bags and papers. In his sharp suit, he seemed jarringly out of place in the warm, homey atmosphere. Miriam quickly helped him with his load. “You shouldn’t have! Your visit was enough,” she said. But then she wondered, Why are all these ingredients? Cooking from scratch wasn't exactly her forte.

In the kitchen, Teresa was preparing Michael's gruel. Jonathan's gaze lingered on her back before he looked away. “Where’s Mike?” he asked, his voice pointedly loud, as if addressing someone specific.

“Mike? It’s just Teresa and me,” Miriam replied, the first part of her plan in motion—playing the fool, deflecting his questions.

Jonathan’s attention returned to Teresa. “My secretary asked me to pick up his child before leaving. He’s staying with me.”

Teresa could no longer remain passive. She turned sharply, removing her apron as she left the kitchen. Standing firmly before him, she met his gaze despite their height difference.

“Mike’s mother asked me to care for him before she left. You don’t need to worry about him,” she stated firmly.

“Can you really care for him?” Jonathan asked rhetorically. “You’re living in someone else’s house with a child. Can you even cook? Without basic skills, how will you manage?”

Teresa retorted, “I can’t cook, but I can order takeout.”

Jonathan’s voice hardened. “He’s only a few years old. Are you really going to feed him takeout constantly? That’s unhealthy. But then again, he’s not your own child, so I suppose you don’t care.”

Teresa’s anger flared. How could I not care about my own son? she thought. Just as she was about to retort, a small figure dashed into the room and clung to Jonathan’s leg.

“Mr. Daddy Lime, you’re finally here to save me!” Michael sobbed.

Jonathan, sensing something amiss, asked the boy to look up. Michael tilted his head back, his large eyes blinking up at Jonathan, momentarily disarming him. Before him stood a child in a wig, two pigtails cascading down his shoulders, his cheeks exaggeratedly rouged.

Miriam erupted in laughter, while Teresa, still stung by Jonathan’s earlier remarks, remained stoic.

“Mike Johnson,” Jonathan said sternly, crouching to pick him up. “What are you up to?”

“I’m not Mike,” Michael replied, dramatically shaking his braided pigtails. “I’m your precious daughter!”

Jonathan pulled off the wig, revealing the boy beneath. “Why are you dressed like a girl?”

Michael clung to his neck and pointed toward the door. “It was Aunt Cheryl! She said… you like daughters!”

Aunt Cheryl? Jonathan pondered.

At that moment, Cheryl strolled casually into view. “Hey, Jonathan,” she said with a wave.

Jonathan frowned. “Why are you here?”

Cheryl explained that she’d bumped into Miriam while shopping and decided to visit. Jonathan’s expression darkened. “Did you dress him like this? What nonsense did you tell him? And why is he calling you Aunt Cheryl?”

“I…” Cheryl faltered, overwhelmed by his barrage of questions. She glanced at Teresa, silently pleading for help. Teresa, save me!

Teresa smoothly intervened. “The child insists on calling you Dad. Since Cheryl’s your sister, him calling her aunt isn’t a problem. It’s just a form of address.”

Cheryl admired Teresa’s effortless calm under Jonathan’s intimidating gaze. She’d effortlessly deflected his inquiries—a skill born of intimacy.

Jonathan pursed his lips, his expression softening slightly. “Cheryl, you’re coming back with me. The kid’s coming too.”