You got your marriage certificate and then abandoned me? I'll feed the richest woman in the wor

[The protagonist is currently standing precisely at: in front of the mahogany table at the Michelin three-star restaurant of the Château de Paris.]

That pure white silk handkerchief with a few specks of sauce on it.

Chen Yuan casually tossed it onto the edge of the black plate.

Dark red raw meat blood and butter stains spread across the silk.

It looks like a cheap oil painting that has been slashed by a sharp blade.

Chen Yuan pulled out the carved high-backed chair that Shen Wanzhou was sitting on with one hand.

His large, well-defined hand naturally took her slightly cool fingertips in his.

The warm palms enveloped the girl's slender fingers perfectly.

"Let's go."

His deep voice echoed beneath the castle's high, open dome, carrying an undeniable air of protectiveness.

Shen Wanzhou obediently let him lead her to her feet.

That nauseating feeling in my stomach just now.

The clean, cool scent of soap emanating from the man's cuffs gradually soothed her.

She wore high heels, lifted her skirt, and followed Chen Yuan's steps.

The two hadn't even taken half a meter.

"Bang!"

The kitchen double door at the back of the restaurant is decorated with intricate brass patterns.

He was roughly pushed away from the inside.

The heavy door hinges emitted a sharp metallic scraping sound.

A wave of heat from the kitchen, mixed with scalding steam and the strong aroma of spices, forcefully rushed into the well-cooled restaurant lobby.

A tall, elderly white man wearing a snow-white double-breasted chef's uniform.

He strode out.

He was wearing a tall chef's hat.

Three dazzling Michelin stars were embroidered in gold thread on the front of the garment.

Alan.

An absolute titan of the French culinary world, the soul of this 300-year-old castle restaurant.

Behind him.

Four sous chefs, all with equally angry faces, followed closely behind.

The group of people stepped onto the marble floor tiles, wearing heavy, non-slip chef's shoes.

"Thump, thump, thump."

The footsteps were heavy and muffled, like war drums, carrying an undisguised aggressiveness.

They stood firmly in front of Chen Yuan and Shen Wanzhou.

Alan's grey-blue eyes were fixed on the white porcelain plate that Chen Yuan had pushed to the edge of the table.

In the plate.

His prized, top-quality raw marinated beef tartare had collapsed and deformed.

Expensive black truffle sauce dripped down the edge of the table and onto the handmade Persian rug.

It left behind a glaring dark brown stain.

Alan's chest heaved violently.

The muscles in his face swelled up to a horrifying liver color due to the congestion of blood.

"Arrêtez!"

He spread his arms and blocked the way.

A rapid, heavily nasal French phrase came out, spittle flying through the air.

The French waiter next to him, wearing a tuxedo.

I was so scared that my whole body was trembling and my legs were spinning.

He quickly lowered his head and stammered in English to translate for Chen Yuan.

"Sir... Chef Alan is asking you why you treated his food so roughly?"

"This dish is made using Kobe beef and white sturgeon caviar from the Caspian Sea, through forty-eight molecular gastronomy processes..."

"Shut up."

Chen Yuan's voice was not loud.

But that cold, hard, and imposing aura was forged from the very core of his being.

He choked the waiter's remaining words, leaving them stuck in his throat.

Alan looked at the expressionless Eastern man.

The arrogance in my heart erupted like a volcano.

He served countless royalty and political figures in Europe.

Which nobleman wouldn't treat his dishes with utmost care and reverence?

This Chinese man in a trench coat actually treated his hard work like trash and pushed it away!

He even threatened to cook for him in his kitchen.

Alan pointed at Chen Yuan's nose.

His speech became faster and faster, and his tone rose to an ear-piercing level.

It stood out conspicuously in this spacious and elegant restaurant.

No translation is needed; that condescending disdain has already transcended the language barrier.

"Crude Orientals!"

Alan roared in accented English, his disdain undisguised.

"Your tongues have long been ruined by the excessive oil and salt in the food from those roadside stalls!"

"You have no idea what it means to respect the cells of the food, or what the art of slow cooking, precise to 0.1 degrees Celsius, truly is!"

The waiter braced himself and continued to interpret in a trembling voice.

"The chef said... Chinese food is nothing more than a juggling act of throwing a bunch of cheap ingredients into a big iron pot and stirring them haphazardly."

"That doesn't deserve to be called culinary art at all, let alone be considered high art."

"His kitchen is a sacred temple of art."

"You, who know absolutely nothing about cooking, are absolutely not allowed to go in and start a fire, or you'll dirty his spotless stove!"

The temperature in the air seemed to plummet to freezing point in that instant.

The chamber symphony orchestra next to them had long since stopped playing their instruments in fright.

The cellist's fingers, gripping the strings, were stiff.

The entire castle hall was so silent that you could hear the crackling of candles burning along the walls.

Shen Wanzhou stood quietly to the side and behind Chen Yuan.

The moment I heard those words "vulgar" and "street vulgarity".

Her once clear and cool eyes suddenly darkened.

Pupil constriction.

A layer of frost that would never melt instantly covered his eyes.

How dare you point your finger at Chen Yuan and call him vulgar?

How dare you criticize her for eating her medicinal diet, which she finishes every day without leaving a drop of soup, as a roadside gimmick?

She released Chen Yuan's hand.

Her slender, fair fingers reached directly into the trench coat pocket.

My fingertips touched the black, encrypted satellite phone.

The coldness of the metal body pressed against the pale skin on her knuckles from the force she exerted.

She doesn't need to know anything about molecular gastronomy.

All she knew was that the restaurant's parent company was listed on the Paris Stock Exchange.

All she had to do was press the shortcut key and dial the dedicated line for Xingchen Venture Capital's overseas department.

Within ten minutes.

This castle has a history of three hundred years.

Along with Alain's proud Michelin three-star rating.

They will be crushed into worthless fragments by the steel tracks of Chinese capital.

She wanted to make this arrogant old Frenchman kneel by the Seine and wash dishes.

"eagle."

Shen Wanzhou's clear voice rang out in the deathly silent hall.

She exudes the oppressive aura of a powerful chaebol empress who holds the power of life and death.

Eagle, the security captain who was guarding the door, immediately rushed in like a black panther.

The tactical baton had slipped from his hand into his palm.

"Send me the list of the controlling consortium behind this restaurant."

Shen Wanzhou took out her phone.

The cold white light from the screen shone on her beautiful face, which was devoid of any warmth.

My finger hovers over the dial pad.

Just as her thumb was about to press down.

A large, warm hand with calluses.

It covered us steadily from the side.

Chen Yuan's palm pressed tightly against the back of her hand.

Along with that satellite phone, and her impending thunderous rage.

They pressed down gently together.

The warmth from my palm seeped through the texture of my skin.

It carried that familiar scent of fir trees.

It instantly smoothed out the coldness in Shen Wanzhou's eyes.

She turned her head.

She looked at the man beside her, puzzled.

A hint of aggrieved stubbornness flashed in her peach blossom eyes.

He insulted you.

She bit her lower lip, her voice low but carrying an unreasonable protectiveness.

"I'll buy this place and have him thrown out."

Chen Yuan looked at her, who was acting like a protective little lioness.

In his deep black eyes, a hint of indulgence and warmth flashed across his face.

His rough thumb pad gently stroked her pale hand twice.

Fingerprints brushed against the pink diamond wedding ring on her ring finger.

"Spending money to buy this garbage place has tainted the ledgers of Xingchen."

His deep voice was like a comb, smoothing out her frizzy hair.

"Put your phone away. Let's see what I do."

Chen Yuan released her hand.

His tall, imposing figure turned around and faced the French chef who was still glaring at him angrily.

The lazy and nonchalant air about him vanished without a trace the moment he turned around.

Instead.

It is an absolute sense of oppression, like someone who has crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood and looks down on the masses.

The air in the hall seemed to be tightly gripped by an invisible hand.

Even the air pressure became unbearably heavy.

Alan's angry expression froze.

He felt as if a rusty iron nail was stuck in his throat, making even breathing painful, like being cut into flesh.

The Asian man just stood there.

There weren't even any extra movements.

But that overwhelming, suffocating feeling.

This forced him to involuntarily take a small step back.

The non-slip chef's shoes screeched sharply against the smooth floor tiles.

Chen Yuan coldly looked at the enraged French chef in front of him, a chilling smile curling at the corner of his mouth: "Since you consider this garbage as art, then today, I'll teach you what a true dimensional reduction attack is."