Sylvia stood behind the stove, the rhythmic sound of stirring porridge filling the kitchen as she faced an unexpected start to her day. She had envisioned waking up early, tackling her chores, and diving into research for her new case. But now, instead of that plan, she was cooking breakfast for her nephew, a role she hadn't anticipated playing today.

In her family, cooking was usually her elder sister's domain—after all, she was a chef, and her meals were nothing short of culinary magic. But today, she was absent, and it left Sylvia alone in the kitchen to care for her son. The reality of her sister's increasing dedication to her restaurant job struck Sylvia as she recalled the recent change in their familial dynamic. Her sister had finally allowed James' father to step back into their lives, granting him the opportunity to bond with his son, who had, until now, grown up without him.

In truth, Sylvia had once loathed the idea. A few months back, when her sister had first suggested giving James' father a second chance, she would have vehemently disagreed. How could she accept the man who had abandoned her sister and married another woman? The anger had brewed within her as she watched her sister struggle through the years, fighting to raise James on her own. It had only solidified Sylvia's bitter view of men, believing they thought they could toy with their lives and emotions, treat them like mere objects to be discarded at will. The only reason now, she has gotten used to him being around her nephew, is that family law has taught her that in the phase of a custody battle, mostly one needs to take into consideration the child's interest at heart. It is hardly about the couples.

"Hey, Aunt!" James' voice broke her reverie. "I think you're burning the porridge!"

Glancing down, panic surged through her. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, quickly lifting the pan from the heat as the smell of burnt food wafted through the air. She dumped the overcooked porridge into the sink, deciding to start fresh. "Sorry, kiddo. Looks like I need to whip up a new batch." James shook his head, resigned to the wait. He couldn't openly complain, not when his aunt was trying her best.

With renewed determination, Sylvia grabbed a fresh pot and resumed stirring the porridge, her thoughts drifting back to James' father. Part of her hoped that her parents or Mabel would show up to handle the awkwardness of his arrival, but they were all preoccupied with her parents visiting one of their extended family members who had fallen ill. She was left babysitting James until his father arrived for their soccer outing. Lucky her.

Just as the frustration bubbled within her, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it, Aunt Sylvia!" James called, excitement in his voice.

"Oh no, you won't!" Sylvia quickly countered. "How many times have I told you to be cautious? You can't just fling open the door for anyone! It might be dangerous."

James rolled his eyes, his bravado shining through. "Please, Aunt. I'm the only 'man' here; if someone dangerous were to walk through that door, I'll protect you!" Sylvia almost burst out laughing at his boldness.

"A man, you say? You're still just a boy!" she teased as she brushed past him toward the door. Swinging it open, she found Mr. Arthur, James' father, standing there with a smile that twisted her stomach.

"Good morning," he greeted, flashing a grin that irked her deeply. If it were up to her, he would be living a miserable life, with an Ugly wife, far removed from the happiness he flaunted now with his, stunning wife and leave her sister, Mabel and her son alone.

Sylvia forced a tight-lipped smile in return. "Good morning, Mr. Arthur. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable." As he stepped inside, she added, "But just so you know, James is finishing up his breakfast. You'll have to wait a moment before you two head out."

Mr. Arthur turned towards her. "That's kind of you, but we can grab something on the way to soccer; I'm running a bit late for a meeting," he replied.

Sylvia stepped closer, her irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. "Mr. Arthur, are you suggesting I toss out the meal I just prepared for my nephew?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant..." he faltered, clearly flustered.

"Then what exactly were you saying?" Sylvia pressed, crossing her arms. "Do you think I don't understand English?"

"I—" he stammered, finally giving in. "Never mind. I'll wait."

"Better," she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips as she walked away to serve her nephew.

Men often thought they held the upper hand, but Sylvia had made her choice. If she were ever to find love, she would ensure she called the shots. After all, she believed, everyone deserved to carve out their own voice in the cacophony of expectations.

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A/N: I was asked to delve deeper into Sylvia's character, exploring the reasons behind her uptight demeanour and shedding more light on her as an individual rather than focusing solely on her professionalism. I genuinely hope that I've succeeded in capturing that in this chapter. This chapter might be short but let's hope that the next one will be much longer. With that said don't forget to leave a vote or comment.