Anya’s POV
I hurried back to the restaurant, got the exact dish he’d written down—garlic and all—and didn’t even bother checking it twice. My legs felt tired, my head hurt, and honestly, my heart felt even worse. Still, I carried the food like it was something precious, scared that even the smallest mistake would send him into another cold lecture.
When I got back to the office, I knocked softly, waited for his sharp “come in,” and stepped inside.
He didn’t look at me, not really. Just a quick glance, then his eyes went back to his laptop. I set the food down gently on his desk, opened the bag the same way I had earlier, and stepped back like a scared schoolgirl waiting for a grade.
He didn’t taste it.
He didn’t smell it.
He didn’t even pretend to check if it was correct.
He just sa
