You're Mine, I'm Yours

Part 7

It was a crisp Sunday morning, and sunlight filtered gently through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the breakfast spread. Khaotung, feeling unusually domestic, had spent the early hours preparing a hearty breakfast for everyone. The aroma of pancakes, toast, sausages, and eggs filled the air, mingling with the fresh scent of coffee brewing in the pot. Mark, who had joined Khaotung in the kitchen, was flipping pancakes with practiced ease, his movements smooth and efficient.

With a satisfied smile, Khaotung placed a stack of pancakes and a plate of sausages and eggs in front of Mark. “Here,” he said, handing over the dishes. Mark nodded in appreciation and took his place at the table.

As the group gathered around, Khaotung took a seat and began to serve himself. The breakfast table was a lively scene, with the chatter of the household staff blending with the clinking of cutlery. Pond, who was sitting across from Khaotung, dug into his breakfast with gusto.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a good breakfast,” Pond said, savoring the food.

“Why? You guys don’t cook?” Khaotung asked, taking a bite of his sausage and glancing around.

“Only Mark knows how to cook, but we’re tired of eating the same breakfast every day,” Finn replied, shrugging.

“Hey, my food is not that bad,” Mark interjected, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Then who used to make breakfast?” Khaotung asked, his curiosity piqued.

“It was the previous maid before you,” Pond explained, “but no one liked her food, so Mark took over.”

“Really?” Khaotung said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “How come your boss didn’t chew her out for her poor skills?”

“Boss First is not that bad,” Finn said, trying to defend his employer.

“Not bad?” Khaotung scoffed. “I don’t understand how you guys still like your boss. He’s a narcissistic jerk, selfish with anger issues, a funsucker...” His voice trailed off as he remembered the events of the previous night. He continued badmouthing First, his words becoming more critical and heated.

As he spoke, the others at the table began to shift uncomfortably. Khaotung noticed their expressions change from amusement to alarm. Before he could process what was happening, the room fell silent. The staff stood up and began to approach him, their faces a mix of concern and fear.

Khaotung’s voice was abruptly cut off as hands were placed over his mouth. He struggled to understand what was happening as he was gently but firmly turned around. The source of the sudden tension became clear: First was standing against the wall, arms crossed, with an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes were narrowed, and his lips curved into a small, smug smile.

The other staff members, looking anxious and apologetic, bowed deeply to First. “Good morning, Boss,” they said in unison, their voices almost a whisper.

“I’m so sorry, Boss,” Pond stammered, clearly shaken. “We would never dare to say anything bad about you. It was Khaotung; he doesn’t know much.”

First’s gaze was fixed on Khaotung, his expression a blend of irritation and amusement. “I need my black coffee. Bring it to my room,” he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. He gave Khaotung one last pointed look before turning on his heel and striding out of the kitchen, his steps echoing down the hallway.

As the door closed behind him, the atmosphere in the kitchen shifted. The staff exchanged uneasy glances, their faces reflecting the tension of the moment. Pond, looking pale and anxious, took his hand away from Khaotung’s mouth. “OMG, do you think he will fire us all?” Pond asked, his voice trembling slightly.