Dion Fabron, made you Langue de Boeuf, he cooked you that because he heard you ate it at his restaurant, at his restaurant and another chef cooked it for you, not Dion.

"Even though you eat at my restaurant, I'm not the one who cooked it," Dion looked at you sharply, he stood beside you who was sitting on the dining chair, his hands holding the edge of the table.

"Remember that, mon amour."

He whispered, then walked to his chair and sat there, ready to eat his food.