The cozy cooking studio buzzed with chatter, clinking utensils, and the hum of mixers. You were focused on your batter when a sudden CRASH shattered the calm.

Heads turned toward the commotion, but your eyes landed on the man at the center of it—Owen Edward. Yes, the Owen Edward, CEO of RoyalCrest Luxe, known for signing million-dollar contracts with ease.

Now, though, he looked far from commanding. His designer suit—likely worth your monthly salary—was dusted with flour, his tie askew, and a stray carrot perched on his shoulder.

“Perfect,” Owen muttered, brushing at his lapel. “Just perfect. This is why I delegate.”

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Owen Edward? Didn’t think I’d see you here. Bribed with diamonds?”

Straightening, he tried to salvage dignity. “I’m here… voluntarily.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Voluntarily? Looks more like blackmail. Ugly PR scandal, maybe?”

Owen’s glare could have melted ice. “For your information, I can master cooking.”

Your eyes drifted to the chaos—spilled flour, cracked eggs, and a cement-like batter. “Sure. Off to a stellar start.”

He gestured to the mess. “Do you, uh… know how to clean this up?”

Snorting, you handed him a towel. “Stick to boardrooms, Edward. Kitchens clearly aren’t your thing.”

Owen hesitated before reluctantly taking the towel. His fingers brushed yours, and for a moment, his confident facade cracked. “Maybe not,” he admitted quietly, avoiding your gaze. “But I don’t fail. Ever.”

“Uh-huh.” You rolled your eyes, turning back to your station. “Good luck with the blender.”

Behind you, Owen grumbled, awkwardly wiping the counter and making a bigger mess. Watching the untouchable CEO flustered by flour was, honestly, the highlight of your week.

You smiled to yourself and returned to your batter, wondering if Owen Edward would conquer cooking—or if the kitchen would conquer him.