Neville responded to a few of the friendlier comments before setting his phone down and looking back at Vivi, who was happily digging into another piece of fried
Vivi had finished eating and was now sitting back with the kind of satisfaction only good food could bring. She hadn't met her "daddy number three" yet, but she had already made up her mind. Her favorite was definitely "daddy number two." Mr. Goosleing might be kind, but daddy number two was rich, fed her lots of fried chicken, and—most magically of all—he could change his hair color like a real fairy. She stared at him thoughtfully, silently wondering if he could turn his hair blue. Or green. That would be so cool.
Her eyes drifted to the untouched food still on the table. Without a word, she opened her backpack and pulled out an empty microwavable tupperware. She had taken it from Mr. Goosleing's kitchen when he wasn't paying attention. Sneaky as ever, Vivi carefully placed the leftover fried chicken and fries into the container. Once it was filled, she tucked it back into her bag with care.
Being hungry, she had learned, was a lonely feeling. And Vivi didn't want to feel that way again—especially when she had something as precious as leftover fried chicken to keep her company later.
Neville stared at Vivi, an odd expression creeping across his face. His brows furrowed slightly as he watched the small child pull out the empty tupperware from her bag and begin packing food like it was the most natural thing in the world. Who would have thought that a tiny girl like her—barely reaching the table with her chin—would come this prepared? An empty tupperware in her backpack? Seriously?
He knew Natellie had been mischievous when she was younger—always full of surprises and half-baked plans. But this? This felt like a new level entirely. Her daughter was a whole new breed of trouble.
"What are you doing?" Neville finally asked, his tone a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
"Vivi wants to have more fried chicken later," the little girl replied cheerfully, flashing a smile that could melt anyone's frustration.
"Yeah? So why is there tupperware in your bag?"
"I got it from Mr. Goosleing's kitchen earlier," she said matter-of-factly, as if sneaking kitchenware was standard practice.
"..."
"Don't worry, Daddy! I also packed your fried chicken so you won't starve later."
"..."
Neville blinked. Starve? Him?
Who was going to starve again? He was a young man who had inherited billions. He had access to food from five-star restaurants in any city, at any hour. There were people whose entire job revolved around making sure he never even felt the hint of hunger. And yet here was this little girl—this little bun—treating him like someone who might beg for leftover fried chicken later tonight.
And the craziest part? She looked so proud about it.
!!!
"Daddy!" Vivi suddenly called out in that sweet, sugary voice of hers.
Neville raised an eyebrow, curious. Unlike Stanley, who might have corrected her or pushed her to be more formal, Neville didn't stop her. He let her call him that. There was something intriguing about the way she said it—like she already decided the title belonged to him.
"What is it?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Daddy, what's your name?"
"... You don't know my name?"
"No," Vivi answered, shaking her head innocently.
"Your mother didn't even tell you our names?"
Again, she shook her head. No guilt, no hesitation. Just simple truth.
Neville sat there, quiet for a moment. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or be annoyed. Somehow, it felt like he had just been dropped into the middle of a story that had already started without him.
Neville quietly ground his teeth, the pressure building behind his jaw. That damned woman. She vanished without a word, leaving nothing but silence behind her. Not a single farewell. Not even a message. Just gone. And now—after six long years—Natellie suddenly decided to reappear. As if nothing had happened. As if it were normal to drop a bomb like this.
She was alive. And not only that—she had a daughter. A big one at that. A daughter who looked just like her, who chewed with her mouth open, who packed fried chicken in a tupperware and claimed him as her daddy without blinking.
And to top it off, Natellie had made the decision all on her own. No discussion. No warning. Just one day, bam—the four of them were now co-parenting a child for a year. A child Natellie had trained to call them "Daddy," like it was some kind of scripted play.
But she didn't even tell the girl their names?
Unbelievable.
Neville clenched his fists under the table. Great. Just great. What a lunatic woman.
"I'm Neville," he finally said, suppressing his irritation. "Neville Jolie."
!!!
"Nevee Joey," Vivi repeated, lips puckering in concentration as she tried to mimic the name.
"Neville," he corrected.
"Nevy."
"Neville. Repeat after me. Neville."
"Nevy."
"Neville Jolie."
"Nehvee Zohee."
"..."
"Daddy Nevy!"
"Stop."
Neville clicked his tongue, the annoyance slipping through his composed expression. This kid. She couldn't even pronounce his name properly. And now it made perfect sense—why she kept calling Stanley "Mr. Goosleing." It wasn't a joke. She just couldn't say their names right.
"Daddy, are you okay?" Vivi asked sweetly, tilting her head with innocent concern.
Neville took a deep breath. No. He wasn't going to lose his temper. Not in front of her. It would be his loss to let this little bun see his frustration. Especially when she clearly liked him best. He could see it. She was already favoring him over the others.
And honestly? He thought to himself with a sigh—bribing this bouncing dumpling was turning out to be easier than he expected.
"…I'm fine," Neville muttered, his voice low but steady.
"Oh." Vivi's reply was simple, but her eyes lingered on him a moment longer, studying his face like she was trying to read something more. Then, after a brief pause, she gave a tiny nod, as if she had just made an important decision in her little head.
Her expression shifted into one of firm determination, and she turned to face him fully, her eyes now sparkling with purpose. Her mommy had taught her many things—some silly, some serious—but one lesson stuck the most: always show appreciation when someone gives you something, no matter how small.
And today? Daddy number two had given her a lot of food. Not just any food. Fried chicken.
This, in Vivi's mind, absolutely deserved a proper thank-you.
"Daddy, I will sing you a song!" she declared with all the ceremony of a royal announcement.
"For what?" Neville asked, one brow twitching slightly.
"You gave Vivi a lot of fried chicken. Mommy said we need to show how grateful we are when we receive something from other people."
She placed a hand on her chest with pride. "Vivi is good at singing! I will sing you a good song!"
Without waiting for permission, she adjusted her posture, sat up straight like a proper little performer, and began to clap her hands in rhythm.
Then came the song.
"Oh, the monkey had a farm! Meow, meow, yow~!"
"…"
Neville blinked slowly.
What kind of farm?
What kind of monkey?
And why meow?
He had no idea what was going on anymore.