Drake stared down at the pair of chopsticks in his hand, his sharp brows furrowed with hesitation. Emma figured as much—of course he didn't know how to use chopsticks. Without a word, she grabbed him a fork instead. Then, she went right back to cooking another bowl of noodles for herself. The rich aroma of fried beast cutlet noodles spread through the room, winding straight into the nostrils of the Grand Elder. His stomach growled embarrassingly loud, and he nearly drooled on the spot. "Ms. Emma Tibarn…" The elder cleared his throat, his face flushed. "W-Would it be possible for you to make us a bowl too? We'll pay in star coins." It smelled too good. Missing out on this meal would be a crime. And after all, the Drakonids had no shortage of gems or star coins. Hearing "star coins" lit Emma right up. She happily set another two bowls of noodles to boil. Noodles she had plenty of—if there was money to be made, she'd keep them coming all day. The noodles came out springy and smooth, the broth thick and mouthwatering. The beast meat, surprisingly tender, carried none of that sour, gamey aftertaste. Instead, there was this faint tingle left on the tongue, the kind of spice that only made you crave more. It was addictive—like a dish designed to awaken the beast in you. Drake finished his bowl in silence, then his gaze drifted back to Emma. This little female might look fragile, but she clearly wasn't useless. At least her cooking was perfect for his taste. Better, in fact, than anything he'd ever had at the Thalassian Palace—or even the top chefs of the Central Planet. Leaning back, his voice low and lazy, he asked, "How many star coins would it take for you to cook like this for me every day?" Emma froze. On one hand, more star coins meant more joy. On the other, she had to give this man mental comfort every single day. If those sessions drained her like yesterday's had, she'd barely have the energy to stand, much less cook three meals a day. And what if she had her own things to handle? Being tied down to the kitchen was not part of her plan. With a polite smile, she replied, "I don't think that's a good idea. I don't know your tastes well enough—what if you don't like my cooking?" This was her rich uncle, after all. Even a rejection had to be wrapped in silk. Drake's gaze darkened, pressing down on her with quiet force. "Fifty billion a month." Emma almost choked. Was this how the true interstellar elites operated—throwing star coins around like loose change? She opened her mouth, but before she could even speak, Drake added calmly, "One hundred billion." "…." One hundred billion? The man tossed it out like it was nothing—like flicking a coin into a fountain. Emma suddenly wondered if she'd been underselling herself with the fifty million per mental comfort deal. Her thoughts must've shown on her face because Drake raised the stakes again. "Three hundred billion." "……" Okay, forget what she said earlier. She snapped her head up, meeting his gaze. "This isn't about money," she explained carefully. "It's just… there are things I can't control. I can't promise I'll have the time to cook for you every day." "Then cook whenever you do have time." Drake's black eyes lingered on hers, and for the first time, the cold depths of his stare softened with the faintest trace of amusement. Emma almost wanted to laugh. A man this rich, this generous, and this ridiculously easy to negotiate with—what kind of cosmic lottery had she won? Thank you, Beast God, for dropping such a wealthy benefactor into her lap. So what if he didn't like her? Who cared—he paid in star coins, and that was enough. "Deal." Three hundred billion a month. And he was staying here for three months. That meant nine hundred billion. Nine hundred. Billion. If that wasn't overnight wealth, what was? To seal the deal, Emma immediately whipped up another bowl of noodles for him—this time with two perfectly fried beast eggs on top. Drake ate in silence, content. The satisfaction in his expression didn't escape her notice. After breakfast, Drake ordered the elder and the other retainers to leave, keeping only two men by his side. But even they didn't stay in the villa—Drakonids were territorial by nature, and no male had the right to live inside a female's home. Not unless he was her mate.Drake might not plan to actually bond with Emma, but until their match was dissolved, him staying here was acceptable. The rest was none of Emma's business. Once the villa quieted down, leaving just the two of them, Drake turned his gaze on her. "Now," he drawled, watching her scroll lazily through her lightcore, "can you give me mental comfort?" Breakfast was done. The hangers-on were gone. She didn't look busy. Emma had just finished posting a buy-request for tier-five beast cores and insect cores. With a resigned sigh, she closed her lightcore and stood up. Looking at the man sprawled like a king on her couch, she asked softly, "Do you want me to do it here… or should we go up to your room?"