5

The morning sunlight piercing through the gaps in the penthouse's heavy curtains felt blinding. Harper groaned softly, struggling to move her body, which was buried in a sea of black silk sheets.

An intense soreness radiated from her inner thighs to her spine. Memories of a wild night that had drained her energy and common sense flashed rapidly through her mind.

Harper forced herself to get up. She glanced at the clock on the wall: 7:15 AM. Her morning shift in the kitchen was about to start. Ignoring the throbbing ache throughout her body, she picked up her underwear scattered on the floor, put it on hastily, and reached for her dirty, ruined chef's uniform.

"Damn it! What am I supposed to wear?!" Harper grumbled.

"Going somewhere?" Kael's heavy, raspy voice vibrated right in her ear.

Harper turned to look at Kael, who stood towering behind her, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

"I have to get back to the kitchen. My schedule starts at 7:30," Harper said.

Kael snorted dismissively. His free hand circled Harper’s waist, pulling her hips against his hard body. "You’re still so stubborn, aren't you? You've already signed the contract; you don’t need to follow the clock. When you’re with us, you’re off duty."

Kael leaned down, brushing aside Harper’s messy brown hair, then buried his face in the crook of her neck. Harper let out a stifled gasp as Kael’s teeth bit hard into her skin, sucking mercilessly until it left a satisfying, stinging throb.

"Mr. Kael—that hurts!" Harper hissed, trying to pull away.

Kael released his bite, smirking in satisfaction at the purplish-red mark now clearly imprinted on Harper’s pale skin. Kael then reached for a black box on the nightstand and tossed it into Harper’s arms. "Throw away that trash uniform. Wear what’s in there."

Harper opened the box with trembling hands. Inside was a new, premium white chef's jacket, complete with gold-threaded embroidery of the initials H.E. But the problem was, the size was much smaller than a standard uniform.

“Um, I doubt this will fit, Mr. Kael. It looks like…”

“Just wear it. Don't argue,” Kael interrupted.

When Harper was forced to put it on, the fabric clung tightly to every inch of her upper body. The jacket pressed against her full breasts, causing cleavage to peek out from the low V-neck, and molded perfectly to the curves of her wide hips.

“Perfect! Now you can go to the kitchen. I and the others will follow later to teach Armand a lesson for acting so out of line.”

Harper swallowed hard, staring at her reflection in the mirror. There was no other word for it but, "Damn it!"

The atmosphere in The Leviathan's main kitchen was at the peak of breakfast preparation chaos when the double doors swung open. Harper stepped in. The heat from the grills and the billowing scent of broth greeted her instantly.

The clanking of pans and shouts of instructions suddenly ceased. One by one, the sous-chefs and servers stopped working. Their eyes were fixed on the tight uniform that accentuated every curve of her plus-size body, and, of course, on the obvious purplish-red mark perched on her neck.

Chef Armand, who was tasting hollandaise sauce in the middle of the room, turned around at the sudden silence. The spoon in his hand slipped, clattering onto the steel floor. The middle-aged man’s mouth hung open, his face as pale as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Y-you...?" Armand’s voice choked. His eyes widened, scanning Harper from head to toe. "How are you here?! The elite guards dragged you away last night! You should have been fired! Or thrown to the lower deck!"

"Unfortunately not, Chef. I didn't do anything wrong, and as it happens, my schedule starts at eight, which is why I'm here," Harper replied, walking toward her station.

Armand’s pale face turned crimson. His pride as the ruler of this kitchen was torn apart by Harper’s composure. He stepped forward, approaching Harper’s station with a look of pure rage.

"Don't act arrogant in front of me, you damn slut!" Armand barked. He looked with disgust at Harper’s tight uniform and the mark on her neck. "Oh, I get it now. You sold your fat body to the security guards so you wouldn't be thrown overboard, right?! You think you can get away with selling yourself?! Get out of my kitchen right now!"

Armand raised his hand, preparing to grab Harper’s arm to drag her out. However, before his rough fingers could touch the fabric of her uniform, the main kitchen door slammed open with a force that nearly tore the hinges off.

"Touch her, and I will ensure your hands are amputated before this ship docks."

The blood-freezing baritone voice swept across the room. The temperature in the hot kitchen suddenly plummeted to freezing.

Raymond Scott stepped inside with the aura of an undisputed king. His bespoke navy suit fit his sturdy frame perfectly, his ice-cold eyes locked directly onto Armand. Behind him, Tristan followed with a lazy, devilish smile, followed by Kael, whose aura radiated intense killing intent.

The kitchen staff stepped back in unison, heads bowed, bodies trembling. Armand froze in place, his hand still hovering in the air. The tyrant's face was now as pale as a corpse again.

"M-Mr. Scott... Mr. West... Mr. Kael..." Armand stuttered severely, his legs barely able to support his weight. "W-we didn't receive notice of an inspection this morning..."

"We don't need a schedule to see our assets," Tristan interrupted. The blond man walked casually past Armand as if the head chef were nothing but a pile of trash, then stopped right beside Harper.

In front of dozens of pairs of eyes wide with shock, Tristan leaned in, kissed Harper’s cheek affectionately, and then his hand unhesitatingly wrapped around her solid waist, pulling her close.

"You look very appetizing in this jacket, Darling. Truly a sweet appetizer," Tristan whispered, loud enough to be heard by the now-trembling Armand.

"L-let go of me, Tristan," Harper hissed quietly, her face heating up from being the center of attention.

Raymond stepped forward, narrowing the distance with Armand, who was now starting to break out in a cold sweat. The CEO stared down the pathetic head chef with a condescending look.

"I heard you calling our girl a 'slut', Armand. And you intended to throw her out of this kitchen."

"N-no, sir! I swear I only... she violated the recipe rules! She deserves to be punished!"

Kael kicked a metal table near Armand, causing it to slide several inches, producing a loud screech that made everyone jump in surprise.

"The rules on this ship belong to us! Do you think we don't know about the cheating you’ve been doing regarding Harper?! From this second on, Harper Evans no longer takes orders from a leech like you. If you dare to order her, yell at her, or even look at her with that disgusting gaze of yours, I will throw you into that industrial oven while you're still alive," Kael stated.

Tristan, with his hand still busy holding Harper, added, "That's right, Armand. Starting today, Harper is returned to her original position as Head Pastry Chef."

Armand swallowed, a gulp that was clearly audible. He bowed deeply, his body shaking uncontrollably. "Y-yes, sir. I-I understand. I apologize... I-I apologize, Harper."

Harper stood there, her heart pounding wildly. For weeks, Armand had tortured her, insulted her body, and made her feel worthless. And now, the man was bowing to her like a terrified dog. A dark, poisonous satisfaction slowly spread through Harper's chest. She felt incredibly powerful.

Raymond turned to look at Harper. His icy gaze softened for only a second when it met Harper’s eyes, before hardening again.

He handed a new smartphone to Harper and said, “Keep this. When it rings, you must pick it up and come to us immediately. For this morning, create something with your expertise; after that, you must prepare to continue what you have to do. Understood?”