"If Mr. Johnston has no further matters for today, I'll take my leave," Addison said. Lance's earlier behavior had completely thrown her off balance. Considering how he looked, it was clear that he was unlikely to agree to a divorce. With that decision made, staying there served no purpose. It was better to leave and avoid any more intimidate words from Lance. "Wait," Lance called out to her, stopping her in her tracks. Noticing her serious voice, Lance instinctively straightened his expression. "We haven't finished discussing the key issues yet. It's not too late to leave once we're done. "Also, the food hasn't even arrived yet. It would be a waste to order so much and not eat any of it." Just as he finished speaking, a knock echoed from the door. "Your dishes are ready." "Come in," Lance responded. The waiters, dressed in uniforms, pushed a small cart loaded with dishes, entering one by one.Each dish was placed on the table, a beautiful mix of colors, aromas, and flavors that made the air fill with a delightful fragrance. "Why don't you sit down and have a bite first?" Lance picked up a pair of cutlery and placed them on Addison's plate. "Even though we haven't finished going over the main points, it's obvious you're not interested in talking, so why bother staying?" Instead of sitting down, Addison stood up, looking as though she had already decided to leave. Lance glanced up at her. Noticing her firm stance, he casually asked, "By the way, do you know how to make mashed potatoes?" Addison was momentarily taken aback. Mashed potatoes? Her steps faltered without meaning to. Why would Lance suddenly bring this up? She lifted her gaze and noticed that the man's focus was on the plate of mashed potatoes as if deep in thought. "Peel the potatoes and cut them into evenly sized chunks. This ensures they cook evenly," Lance replied, not waiting for her to answer. "Place the potato chunks in a large pot and cover them with cold water. Add a pinch of salt to the water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and cook for about 15-20 minutes or until the potatoes are fork-tender." As the man explained in detail, Addison raised an eyebrow in surprise. Lance who never stepped foot in the kitchen, actually knew how to cook? After a moment, the man suddenly glanced up and asked, "Do you think it's that easy? "The real challenge of this dish is in the knife skills! "A mother who never cooks is willing to learn just to make a meal for her son. "In the process of learning this dish, her hands have been cut over and over ... Fresh wounds on top of old ones ... Her hands are covered in scars." Lance gave a smirk. "Do you think this mother is funny? "She went through so much, just to cook for her son. Do you think it's worth it?"Lance spoke casually, his face neutral, as though he were discussing something that had nothing to do with him, yet it felt like he was sharing his personal story. "Is it worth it?" Addison whispered, echoing the question. The melancholic tone Lance carried seemed to seep into the air, causing Addison to pause. She found herself answering sincerely as if the question had become her own. "If this mother is willing to do it, then it must be worth it." "Is that so? "Do you really believe that everything this mother does is worth it?" The sadness in his gaze was so deep, that it seemed impossible to shake off. Addison was taken aback by his sudden shift in mood. She couldn't understand why Lance had changed so dramatically. "Parents' love for their children runs deep," she replied softly. "Any mother who sacrifices selflessly for her child is admirable ... "Addison spoke thoughtfully, choosing her words with care. "A mother who endures scars on her hands just to prepare her son's favorite dish—if she truly loves her child, she'd willingly do it, wouldn't she?" Before she could finish, Lance let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Really? "Absurd. Utterly absurd," he sneered coldly. Addison arched a brow, reflecting on the dynamic between Marilyn and Lance ever since she was in the Johnston Residence. Marilyn was always attentive to Lance—constantly fretting over his well-being, knitting sweaters for him, and even visiting temples to pray for his safety from time to time. By all appearances, Marilyn seemed to care deeply for Lance. So why was Lance acting this way now? At that moment, the man seemed utterly fragile, like a lonely puppy that had never felt the warmth of a mother's love.