Nicholas's POV
The wheels of my private jet touched the runway smoothly. The sunlight reflected off the silver body of the aircraft, and even before the stairs were lowered, I could already see my staff waiting outside—lined up, poised, and ready, just how I preferred.
They knew better than to be late.
Cora had already sent a message assuring everyone that I would be on time as usual. I always was. I hated delays. Time, after all, was money—and I didn't waste either.
As the jet door opened, the first thing that hit me was the familiar scent of jet fuel mixed with the faint aroma of my cologne. I stepped out, adjusting my cuffs, my watch gleaming under the afternoon sun.
Another deal sealed. Another win in the books.
I walked down the steps with the kind of confidence that wasn't practiced—it was natural. Some called it arrogance. I called it certainty.
"Good afternoon, Mr Knight," Manager Henry greeted me. "The car is ready. The meeting with the overseas clients went exactly as you planned. The documents are being processed."
"Good," I said, my tone calm but firm. "I expect the final contract by tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir. It will be done."
As we walked toward the car, a few men from the partnership team approached. They always had that look on their faces—half awe, half fear.
One of them said, "Mr Knight, it was a pleasure doing business with you. We're honoured to have finalised this deal with Knight Holdings."
I gave a small nod. "Make sure the shipment is on schedule. I don't tolerate late deliveries."
"O-of course, sir. You can count on us."
"I always do," I replied, and without another glance, I got into the car.
Inside, silence. Just the way I liked it.
The drive back to my estate was smooth. The city passed by quickly—tall buildings, people rushing, lights changing. I'd built half of these structures, yet I rarely had time to look at them. Success had a price, and mine was peace.
By the time we reached home, the sun was already setting, painting the sky orange and pink. I pressed the button to lower the tinted window, watching the gates open. My mansion stood tall and proud—a private space of order and perfection.
Cora called just as I stepped inside.
"Sir," her calm, respectful voice came through. "Everything has been prepared for your return. The clients staying in the guest house are comfortable. The meeting with the board tomorrow is confirmed. And I wanted to inform you—the new cook started today."
I loosened my tie and walked toward the living room, my eyes scanning everything. "Good," I said. "I hope she's competent. We've had too many leave before they even learned where the knives are kept."
Cora chuckled softly. "She seemed confident, sir. I personally oversaw the interview."
"Hmm. That's why I trust you, Cora. Make sure she keeps up."
"Of course, sir. And welcome home."
"Thank you, Cora."
I ended the call and exhaled slowly. Cora had been with me for years—more than an assistant. She was older, wise, sharp, and the only one who dared to tell me if I was being unreasonable. I respected her deeply.
But respect didn't mean compromise.
As I moved through the house, my sharp eyes caught something instantly—a small freckle of dust on the lamp near the hall table. It was almost invisible, but I saw it. I always did.
I frowned.
Then I noticed the books on the table were not aligned properly. They were off by a few inches. A few inches, yes—but in my world, precision mattered.
I placed the dust cloth nearby and wiped the lamp clean before adjusting the books neatly until they were perfectly aligned.
That was better.
It wasn't about obsession. It was about order. My space reflected my state of mind. Any sign of disorder meant someone wasn't doing their job well.
I made a mental note: hire a new cleaner.
After that, I headed upstairs to my room, shedding my jacket and shirt. The shower was quick but refreshing—hot water washing away the fatigue from the flight.
When I stepped out, wearing only my comfortable pants and a plain black t-shirt, I already felt calmer. This was the only time of day I allowed myself to relax.
Dinner time.
I walked down to the dining area, the familiar silence greeting me again. My life was always quiet. Controlled. Predictable.
I sat down and looked at the neatly arranged plate in front of me. Everything looked perfect—the table was set, the meal covered. A small folded note rested beside the plate.
I raised an eyebrow.
Notes weren't a part of the usual setup.
I picked it up and unfolded it slowly. The handwriting was neat but casual, almost playful.
"Warm it for 30 seconds before eating. Tastes best that way. Also sauce is in the fridge, pour it over the pasta. –E :)"
For a second, I just stared at it.
Then my jaw clenched.
Better flavour?
I didn't ask for advice. I didn't need it.
I followed every specific recipe for a reason. The menu was curated to my taste, down to the seasoning levels. Nobody—nobody...was supposed to change that.
I stood up and walked straight to the kitchen.
Everything looked… slightly different. Not messy, but not exactly how I left it either. A spoon is out of place. The cutting board is not in its usual position. The spice rack rotated by one inch.
Small changes. Tiny things. But enough to irritate me.
This was my kitchen. Every inch of it was designed exactly the way I wanted. And now, someone thought they knew better?
I picked up my phone immediately.
Cora answered on the second ring. "Mr Knight?"
"Fire the new cook," I said flatly.
"Sir?" She sounded surprised. "Already?"
There was silence for a moment before she spoke again. "I'll take care of it immediately, sir."
"Also," I added, my eyes sweeping the counter, "find a new cleaner. There was dust on the lamp and the books were misaligned. I don't tolerate carelessness."
"Understood, sir."
"Good."
I cut the call.
My mood had already soured.
Confidence was one thing. Disobedience was another.
I placed the note down slowly and looked at the covered dish again.
Maybe I'd still taste it. Just to see what kind of arrogance she had cooked into my meal.
But I already knew one thing.
This cook was fired.