Chapter 177

The breakfast table was quiet except for the clink of silverware and the occasional rustle of a newspaper. Olivier sat across from his father, a file folder open before him. The aroma of eggs, buttered toast, and black coffee hung in the air, but Philip Horvath hadn't touched his food.

“There’s a bidding next month,” Olivier said, flipping a page. “It’s in Arizona, Red Bluff District. The land’s been dormant for years, but recent surveys flagged high mineral potential—copper, possibly even lithium. If we move fast—”

“Eat your eggs,” Philip interrupted, reaching for his coffee.

Olivier didn’t respond immediately. He pushed the file forward slightly. “We don’t need to commit now. Just consider placing a bid. If it proves viable, we’d secure a domestic source. The long-term value—”

“I said eat.”

Philip set his cup down and glanced at the file, but didn’t open it. Seeing this, Olivier pressed his lips together and picked up his fork. The eggs had grown cold.

Philip finally picked up a piece of toast. “You always bring these papers to breakfast.”

“Because it’s the only time you sit still,” Olivier muttered.

Philip didn’t answer. He turned another page of the newspaper. The room fell quiet again.

A few minutes later, footsteps echoed from the hallway. A maid entered, bowing slightly.

“Young Master and Young Mistress have arrived.”

Philip’s hand stilled. He slowly set down the newspaper and looked up. He didn’t say anything, but his expression changed. His shoulders straightened. He leaned forward slightly, a subtle shift Olivier immediately noticed. Even Margarette, peacefully enjoying her breakfast, saw the change.

“Have them come in,” he said.

“Grandfather!” Izzy’s voice rang out as she entered, a soft smile on her face. She presented a bouquet of white lilies to the maid, along with a small basket of fruit wrapped in plastic. After giving the maid instructions, the maid nodded and stepped aside.

Izzy walked to the table and leaned down to hug Philip. The old man remained seated but didn't pull away. His hands rested on the arms of his chair as she hugged him lightly.

“I guess we just arrived at the perfect time?” she said quietly, glancing at the breakfast spread.

Philip nodded slightly, then looked toward the hallway. “Where’s Liam?”

“He’s parking the car,” she answered, adjusting her coat as she sat across from Olivier.

“You let him park the car?” Olivier asked, frowning. “Why don’t you hire someone? What’s the point of having drivers if you’re going to do menial tasks yourselves?”

Before Izzy could respond, Philip set down his coffee cup a little harder than necessary.

“Let them be,” he said without looking at Olivier. “Young people these days do things their way. It’s not your business.”

Olivier’s face flushed. He clenched his jaw and looked down at his plate.

Margarette immediately reached under the table and subtly kicked his leg, trying to quell his rising anger. However, he didn't look at her. He turned to Izzy.

“Is that how you greet your father-in-law?” Olivier asked. He wanted to speak to Liam, but the latter refused to respond. He had tried to control his anger, but seeing Izzy’s actions stirred the resentment he felt upon learning his son had married her.

As if on cue, the maid returned with a tray of tea. Izzy turned to her, took the tray from the maid's hands, and placed it on the table.

“In China,” she began, “it’s customary for the newlyweds to pour tea as a sign of respect. The in-laws are expected to drink it. I know I’m not Chinese, but I thought it was a worthwhile way to show respect.”

Olivier didn’t respond immediately. Margarette looked surprised, her eyes flitting to the tray.

Izzy moved with practiced grace. She unwrapped the porcelain cups and poured tea into each one with deliberate movements. There was no rush; everything was neat and controlled.

“I didn’t bring the red envelopes, though,” she added, glancing at Olivier as she handed him a cup.

Margarette stifled a laugh. Izzy ignored her and continued, pouring a cup for Philip, then one for Margarette, and finally one for herself, though she remained standing.

Footsteps approached. Liam entered, hands in his pockets. He nodded to his grandfather. “Morning.”

Philip acknowledged him with a lifted hand. Liam’s eyes immediately went to the table, then to Izzy—standing beside it, her posture straight, hands steady as she offered tea.

She moved smoothly, with quiet confidence. Even the way she held the teapot seemed too polished to be casual.

Liam raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Respecting my elders,” Izzy said without turning.

She poured a final refill, then sat down and lifted her own cup. Philip picked up his cup without hesitation, followed by Margarette. Olivier hesitated, then took his cup, his expression unreadable.

Liam sat beside Izzy, his gaze fixed on her. He leaned in slightly. “When did you learn that?”

“I read books,” she said, taking a sip. “You should try it sometime. Do you want some tea?”

“No. I’ll have coffee,” Liam said, gesturing for the maid to bring him a cup.

Izzy nodded and turned to Philip. “Grandfather, how’s the tea?”

She didn’t look at Olivier or Margarette.

Philip took another sip and set down the cup. “It’s fine.”

Izzy smiled and picked up her cup again.

“It’s a bit too light,” Olivier said, unprompted. He held his cup and examined it. “The leaves were probably steeped too early. It lost its strength before reaching the cup. The water might’ve been under-boiled, too?”

Izzy didn’t flinch. She took another sip, then gently placed her cup on the saucer. She didn’t look at Olivier, instead turning to Liam.

“You know, in the old days, a poorly executed tea ceremony could be considered an insult to the in-laws,” she said, casually brushing a loose thread from her sleeve. “Marriages were sometimes called off because the bride didn’t know how to properly serve tea.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “That serious?”

“Oh, very,” she nodded. “The wrong tea, wrong temperature, even how you hold the cup. It could be seen as a sign of disrespect.” She looked thoughtfully at her cup. “Some fathers-in-law even refused the tea, and the bride was sent back to her family that day. Imagine the shame.”

Margarette glanced between them, her hand frozen on her cup. Olivier’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on his cup tightened slightly.

“Of course,” Izzy added, turning to Philip, “some families were more forgiving. They believed it wasn’t the tea that mattered, but the intention. That’s why most of them lived longer.”

Philip nodded and returned to his newspaper.

Izzy leaned toward Liam, her voice low but clear. “But some still insisted on judging the water temperature.”

Liam didn’t look at his father. He simply took a bite of toast from Izzy’s plate.

Then, Izzy smiled and looked at Olivier. “I’ll practice more next time,” she said with a knowing smile. “I hope Mr. Horvath can forgive me this time.”