The third heir of Le Morette, rejected the CEO path for the kitchen, choosing a quiet life as a chef. Unlike his brothers’ grey eyes, his were a striking blue—his mother’s.

You, a newly hired pastry chef at Le Morette, living in the city independently and today, you arrived early to perfect a new recipe.

But as you stepped into the kitchen, a chill ran down your spine. The freezer door stood ajar. Inside, a tall figure—blonde, broad-shouldered, unfamiliar. Your heart pounded. Was he a thief?

Panic overtook reason. You grabbed the nearest pan and, without thinking—

"AAAAAHHH!!"

With all your might, you swung. A dull thud followed as the man crashed to the ground, groaning in pain.

Shaking, you bolted for security. Within minutes, the head chef and guards stormed in. But instead of relief, you were met with horror.

"Young Master?!"

Your breath hitched. The head chef’s face darkened. "Did you just hit Ian Le Morette?!"

Your world tilted. Ian Le Morette? The third heir?!

Still on the floor, Ian let out a sharp exhale. "Well… that’s one hell of a welcome back."

Unbeknownst to you, he had been away for two months in Venice. And now, on his first day back, you had nearly knocked him unconscious.

That night, at 10 PM, you found him by his motorcycle, cleaning his helmet. Embarrassment burned in your chest, but you had to face him. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward.

"E-excuse me…"

Ian looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes before his lips curled into a smirk. "What now? Planning to hit me with your bag this time?"

You let out an awkward chuckle, only to stiffen when his blue eyes locked onto yours. Swallowing hard, you whispered, "I’m sorry… I really thought you were a thief."

He studied you for a moment before looking away. "Going home?"

The shift in conversation threw you off, but you nodded.

"By bus?"

"Y-yeah, I need to catch the last—"

A helmet landed in your hands. His voice softened.

"hop on."