Cooking in LPBW

Cooking in LPBW A collection of the Roloffs' favorite dishes.

10/11/2025

My girlfriend said, “I need some space. Don’t contact me for a while.” Then she posted photos of herself on vacation with her ex. I respected her wishes — changed the locks and sold the car that was under my name. When she came back, her car key didn’t work, and her parking spot was empty...
When Emma told me she “needed some space,” I didn’t argue. We’d been together for almost three years, and lately, every conversation felt like walking through a minefield. So when she said, “Don’t contact me for a while,” I took a deep breath and agreed. What I didn’t expect was to open Instagram two days later and see her smiling in Cancun… with her ex, Ryan.
I stared at the screen for a full minute, scrolling through the photos — her in sunglasses, his hand around her waist, a drink in each hand. The captions were casual: “Sunshine and good vibes.” The comments were worse. Mutual friends dropping heart emojis like confetti. My heart didn’t break; it calcified.
So, I decided to take her words literally — she wanted space, and I was going to give her plenty of it. The lease was in my name, the car was in mine too. I changed the locks the next morning, called the dealership, and sold the car that afternoon. It wasn’t revenge; it was closure wrapped in practicality.
A week later, I got a text:
“Hey, I’m back. Can we talk?”
I didn’t reply. Two hours later, my phone buzzed again:
“Why doesn’t my key work? And where’s my car???”
I sat on the couch, sipping coffee, staring at the message with a strange sense of calm. For months, I’d been walking on emotional eggshells, afraid of losing her. Now, she was the one outside, locked out of my life — literally and figuratively.
That’s when I realized: sometimes respecting someone’s wishes means freeing yourself too... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

10/11/2025

The billionaire only slept with virgins — until he met this poor black maid, who changed him completely...
The Manhattan skyline glimmered through the tinted glass as Alexander Reed, one of New York’s youngest billionaires, leaned back in his black Aston Martin. Cameras flashed outside his hotel — another model leaving his penthouse suite, tears hidden behind oversized sunglasses.
Alexander had one rule: he only slept with virgins. To him, it was about control — a twisted way to feel untainted, superior. It wasn’t love, never affection. Just the cold satisfaction of ownership.
But that night, when his housekeeper called in sick, a new maid arrived. Maya Carter, a 24-year-old single mother from Harlem, stepped quietly into his penthouse with a bucket and worn sneakers. Her hands trembled as she picked up a champagne glass from the floor, accidentally locking eyes with him.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t lower her gaze like others did.
Alexander studied her — skin deep brown, hair tied under a cheap scarf, posture proud despite exhaustion.
“You’re new,” he said flatly.
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Just here to clean.”
Something unfamiliar tightened in his chest. Usually, women looked at him with desire or fear. Maya’s eyes carried neither. Only strength.
Hours later, he watched her through the reflection of the window as she scrubbed the marble floor. For the first time, he didn’t feel like the powerful one. He felt seen.
That night, instead of calling one of his usual companions, he poured himself a drink and found himself replaying the way she hummed softly under her breath — a gospel tune his mother once loved.
When she finished and turned to leave, he asked, “What’s your name again?”
“Maya.”
He said nothing more, but when the elevator doors closed behind her, Alexander realized something unsettling — he didn’t want her body. He wanted her story.
And that had never happened before... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

The billionaire came home and found his black maid sleeping on the floor with his 1-year-old twin children — and the shocking ending…
When billionaire Ethan Caldwell returned home from a red-eye flight from London, he was expecting silence, not heartbreak. His penthouse in Manhattan — sleek marble floors, glass walls, and minimalist art — had always been a place of order. But that morning, as the automatic doors slid open, he froze.
On the floor of the nursery, under the soft glow of a nightlight, his twin babies — Noah and Emma, barely a year old — were asleep. Next to them lay Maya, their nanny. She was curled protectively around them, her arm over the babies as if shielding them from the cold. There was no crib in use, no blanket covering her, and her uniform looked rumpled and worn.
Ethan’s first reaction was outrage.
“Why the hell is she sleeping on the floor?” he whispered harshly, careful not to wake the children. His assistant, hovering near the door, looked terrified.
But when Maya stirred awake, the truth unraveled painfully fast.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said softly, eyes wide. “The power went out last night. The heater stopped working. They were crying, and it was so cold… I couldn’t leave them.”
Ethan glanced toward the thermostat — it blinked red, showing an error code. He felt his jaw tighten. He wanted to be angry, but then he noticed the faint blue tint on the twins’ lips earlier that morning — the signs of cold. She’d kept them warm with her own body.
He said nothing. Just walked out, leaving his assistant to dismiss her. But as the elevator doors closed, something in his chest twisted. He couldn’t shake the image — the billionaire’s children sleeping safely because their underpaid maid refused to abandon them.
That night, Ethan couldn’t sleep. For the first time, he questioned not his fortune — but what kind of man he’d become... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

Late at Night, a Little Girl Called the Police Saying Her Parents Wouldn’t Wake Up — And When Officers Arrived, What They Discovered Inside the House Left Everyone Speechless
It was almost three in the morning, the quietest hour of the night. The duty officer sat in the station, staring at the glow of an old computer screen. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, and the man stifled a yawn. Not a single emergency call had come in all night.
Then suddenly, the phone rang. “Police station, officer speaking,” he answered automatically, lifting the receiver.
On the other end came a thin, trembling voice. “Hello…”
The officer frowned. It was the voice of a little girl, no more than seven years old.
“Hello, sweetheart. Why are you calling so late? Where are your parents?”
“They… they’re in the room,” she whispered.
“Alright, can you hand the phone to your mom or dad?”
There was a pause.
“No… I can’t.” Her voice grew quieter.
The officer’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Then tell me what happened. You only call the police when something important is going on.”
“It is important…” the girl sobbed. “Mom and Dad are in the room… and they aren’t moving.”
In an instant, the officer’s drowsiness disappeared.
“Maybe they’re just sleeping? It’s very late.”
“No. I tried to wake them. Usually, Mom always wakes up when I come in… but not this time.”
The officer’s instincts told him something was terribly wrong.
A Child Alone
“Are there any other adults in the house? Maybe grandparents?”
“No… just Mom and Dad.”
“Alright, then listen to me. Tell me your address.” He motioned to his partner to get the patrol car ready as he wrote down the girl’s words.
Before hanging up, he spoke firmly:
“Stay in your room and wait for us. Don’t go anywhere, do you understand?”
“Yes…” came the small reply.
Ten minutes later, the patrol car pulled up in front of a small two-story house on the edge of town. The little girl herself opened the door.
“They’re in there…” she pointed toward the bedroom door.
The officers exchanged glances and entered the room, but what they found there left everyone speechless Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

My grandson pushed me into a lake and laughed while I drowned. “Don’t be so dramatic!” my daughter-in-law sneered. They thought the frail old woman who paid for everything was too weak to fight back. I pretended to be frail and forgetful, letting them believe I was losing my mind. “She’s a liability,” I heard them whisper, planning to put me in a home. They had no idea I was documenting every cruel word. When they finally realized my bank accounts were empty, they called the police to report me missing. But the evidence I left for the officers turned their lives into a nightmare….
I never thought a family barbecue would end with me gasping for breath in a lake while my own grandson laughed.
We were on the pontoon boat. My grandson, Kyle, nineteen, was at the helm. “Better hold on tight, Grandma,” he smirked. “About to open her up.”
“Kyle, sweetheart, slow down a bit, please,” I requested, my hands gripping the rail.
“Oh, let him have his fun,” my daughter-in-law, Paula, said. “Boys need to be boys.”
I saw the look in Kyle’s eyes. He wasn't just steering; he was aiming. The boat lurched violently, and I was thrown overboard.
The shock of the cold water was a fist. I surfaced, coughing and sputtering, to the sound of their laughter from the boat.
“You’re being so dramatic, Mom!” Paula called out. “Just stand up!” She said it as if the water were waist-deep, when I knew for a fact it was over ten feet.
When I finally crawled back aboard, soaked and shaking, no one offered a hand. Kyle looked down at me, his lip curled in a smirk. “Guess you’re a tough old bird after all, huh?”
They all laughed. That laughter, more than the cold or the shock, is what broke me. In the chilling silence of their indifference, I knew. The wolf had finally taken off the sheep’s clothing.
That night, I didn’t cry. I sat in the guest room, listening to their laughter float up from downstairs. They thought they had won, that they had successfully reminded the “frail old woman” of her place. They had no idea they had just awakened the woman who had built a real estate empire with my late husband. A woman who understood contracts, trusts, and the cold, hard language of consequences.
My performance, I decided, had been lacking. If they wanted me to be frail and forgetful, then I would give them the performance of a lifetime. I would become the perfect, confused, helpless old woman. I would let them get comfortable. I would let them get greedy.
And I would document every single word.
The next morning, I came downstairs, my hand trembling slightly for effect. “Daniel,” I said to my son, my voice a little shaky. “I think… I think I'm starting to forget things. Maybe we should talk to a lawyer about… you know… helping me manage my affairs.”.... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

At dinner, my sister-in-law "accidentally" spilled wine on my resume right before my dream job interview. "You're not qualified anyway," she smirked. So I calmly took out my phone and slid it to my brother. It was her entire affair text history... with the very CEO I was about to meet. When I walked into the interview the next day, the CEO's face went pale. What he didn't know was that the texts weren't my only leverage...
The night before the most important interview of my career, my sister-in-law, Isabella, glanced at my stack of meticulously prepared notes on the dinner table.
“Vice President?” she arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “That sounds… ambitious. Are you sure you're ready for that kind of pressure, Chloe? It's a big league.”
“More than ready,” I said, my voice firm.
“Well,” Isabella said, lifting her glass of red wine. “We'll see.”
She reached across the table, feigning for the bread basket, and in a clumsy-on-purpose motion, her entire glass tipped over. A wave of dark red wine crashed onto the table, bathing my resume, my notes, and my ten years of ambition in a sticky, blood-red stain.
Silence.
“Oh, clumsy me!” Isabella gasped, her expression one of faux horror. “I am so, so sorry, Chloe.” She paused, then added with a smirk she didn't even try to hide, “Oh well. Maybe it's a sign. That position is probably a bit out of your league anyway, sweetie. No harm done.”
I didn’t get angry. I calmly took a fresh napkin and began to blot the wine. I looked Isabella dead in the eye and gave her a cold, serene smile.
“Don’t worry about it, Isabella,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “It’s not a problem. I always have a backup plan.”
Then, as the tense silence stretched, I reached into my handbag and slowly, deliberately, retrieved my phone.
Isabella's fatal mistake was assuming this was a fair fight. She thought her only weapons were pettiness and a glass of wine. She had no idea I had been sitting on her deepest, most dangerous secret for three long months.
It had fallen into my lap by pure chance. Three months ago, she’d dropped her new phone in the pool.
“Chloe, darling,” she’d cooed over the phone, her voice syrupy sweet. “I know you're so brilliant with these little gadgets. I need you to move my data from the cloud backup to the new device. I'll pay you for your time, of course.”
As I initiated the transfer, I noticed something odd. A set of unusually large, heavily encrypted message files hidden in a "ghost folder." Driven by suspicion, I made a secure copy.
That night, I decrypted it. Her entire six-month affair was laid bare: flirtatious texts, intimate photos.
And then I saw the man's name. Damian H. From the context of the messages—board meetings, product launches—the horrifying truth became clear. Damian Hayes. The powerful, married CEO of Solstice Innovations.
The man who held my entire professional future in his hands.
For three months, I had sat on this ticking time bomb, hoping I would never have to use it. I had filed it away not as a weapon for revenge, but as a last-resort insurance policy against her cruelty.
And tonight, with a single, arrogant flick of her wrist and a glass of red wine, Isabella had just handed me the claim form.... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

“Don't Get On The Plane! It's About To Explode!” – A Homeless Boy Yelled At A Billionaire, And The Truth Scared Everyone...
Richard Callahan was a self-made billionaire, known for his sharp suits, private jets, and unshakable composure. On a bright morning in Los Angeles, he was scheduled to fly to New York for an exclusive meeting with investors. His Gulfstream G650 stood gleaming on the tarmac, its polished silver body reflecting the sun like a mirror. Chauffeurs, assistants, and bodyguards moved briskly around him, ensuring every detail was perfect. For Richard, this was routine.
As he approached the jet, a ragged voice cut through the crisp air.
“Don’t get on the plane! It’s about to explode!”
Everyone froze. Standing near the chain-link fence was a boy—no older than twelve—wearing a filthy hoodie, torn jeans, and sneakers with holes in them. His hair was messy, his cheeks smudged with dirt, but his eyes were sharp, wide with urgency.
Security guards rushed forward, waving him away. “Ignore him, Mr. Callahan,” one said firmly. “Just some homeless kid looking for attention.”
But the boy didn’t back down. He shouted louder, his voice cracking: “I saw them messing with the fuel valve! The plane isn’t safe. Please, don’t go!”
Richard paused. His entourage expected him to dismiss the outburst, but something about the boy’s tone was unsettling. The child wasn’t begging for money—he was terrified, as though he’d witnessed something he couldn’t unsee.
Reporters stationed nearby to capture Richard’s departure sensed drama and raised their cameras. Within seconds, the boy’s warning became the center of attention.
Richard’s head of security grabbed the boy by the arm. “That’s enough! You’re trespassing—”
“Wait.” Richard raised his hand. He studied the boy carefully. “What’s your name?”
“Ethan,” the boy stammered. “I… I live near the hangar. I saw two men working under your jet last night. They weren’t mechanics. They put something near the fuel tank.”
The atmosphere shifted. Crew members exchanged nervous glances. Richard’s pilot frowned, suddenly uneasy.
Richard could feel dozens of eyes on him: his team, the press, even airport staff waiting for his decision. If he brushed this off and boarded, it would make headlines. If he took it seriously, he risked looking foolish.
But the boy’s words had struck a nerve. Against all expectations, Richard ordered: “Ground the plane. Run a full inspection.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Security dragged Ethan aside, but Richard’s gaze stayed fixed on his jet, a gnawing sense of dread creeping into his gut.... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

A struggling waitress was pushed into a pool while everyone laughed — then a millionaire stepped in and left everyone stunned…
It was a glittering evening at Mirador Palace, the kind of charity gala where crystal chandeliers sparkled and golden lights reflected off champagne glasses. Waitresses in crisp white uniforms weaved carefully between tables, balancing trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
Among them was Ava Morel, 24, working double shifts to cover her mother’s hospital bills. She had spent the whole night moving silently through the crowd, invisible as usual.
Until she wasn’t. By the poolside, a group of young socialites laughed quietly. Serena Vance, daughter of a real estate mogul, smirked and whispered to her friends, “Careful, darling… don’t trip, or you might end up in the pool.”
Ava forced a polite smile and kept serving. But as she turned to leave, one of Serena’s friends “accidentally” bumped her shoulder. The tray wobbled, and before she could react, Ava toppled backward into the water. Glasses shattered, champagne sprayed, and the guests erupted into laughter.
For a few seconds, she didn’t move, her face burning with shame. Someone shouted, “Guess she wanted a swim!” while others chuckled at her expense. Ava bit her lip, drenched and humiliated, trying not to cry.
Then a deep, commanding voice cut through the noise:
“What is going on here?”
Heads turned. Lucien Ward, a self-made millionaire and the night’s main donor, had arrived. His eyes scanned the scene, the dripping waitress, the broken glasses, the smirking group.
Silence fell instantly.
“Who pushed her?” Lucien demanded, his gaze sharp.
Serena stammered, “It was just a joke—”
He raised a hand.. The room went quiet. Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

A millionaire came home without announcing… and froze when he saw the housemaid doing this…
Daniel Harrington had built his empire on control: every contract signed, every dollar invested, every decision carefully calculated. But one quiet Thursday evening, he came home earlier than expected, eager to have dinner with his new wife, Sophia, and his son, Ethan. He told no one—he wanted to surprise them.
The marble floor of the villa echoed under his steps. But the surprise was his. From the hallway, he heard a dull, rhythmic sound—tap, tap, tap. It was coming from Ethan’s room. Alarmed, Daniel pushed the door open.
Inside, Alicia Brown, the Black maid he had hired six months earlier, was crouched by Ethan’s wheelchair, gently tapping his legs with a rubber mallet. Ethan’s face was pale, his lips pressed tight, but in his eyes shone something Daniel had never seen before: Hope.
“What are you doing?!” Daniel’s voice thundered, startling them both. He stormed across the room, yanked the tool from Alicia’s hands, and, blinded by rage, slapped her hard.
“Dad, stop! She’s helping me!” Ethan cried.
But Daniel wasn’t listening. His son had been paralyzed for years after a tragic accident. The doctors had been clear: there was no chance of recovery. To him, seeing Alicia strike his son’s legs looked like pure cruelty.
“Get out!” Daniel roared.
Tears welled in Alicia’s eyes, but she didn’t fight back. She cast one last look at Ethan, who whispered, “Don’t let her leave…” before she quietly walked out.
That evening, Ethan refused to eat dinner. He sat in silence, not even looking at his father. Finally, in a trembling voice, he said:
“Dad… I felt something. When Alicia tapped my legs… I felt it. For the first time in years.” Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

"Get out of here, woman! There's no room for the likes of you in my company!" the captain snapped at the young soldier, but he couldn't even imagine who was standing before him. 😱😱
The barracks was filled with a suffocating mixture of damp, sweat, and old smoke. Dust lay thick on the floor, rusty bunks creaked with every movement, and the soldiers sat in the corner like lost shadows. Their uniforms were tattered, their boots torn, and their faces were filled with fatigue and indifference.
Anna, as soon as she crossed the threshold, felt her insides boil. She expected to see strong and proud defenders of the homeland, but instead, people driven to poverty and despair.
She walked resolutely toward the captain.
"Why do your soldiers live in such conditions?" she asked sharply. "Where are the uniforms, where is the proper food? Why is the barracks a pigsty?" The captain frowned, then, realizing the defenseless girl standing before him, chuckled.
"Who are you to even ask questions? Aren't you afraid of losing your job?"
"I'm not afraid," Anna replied firmly. "I'm disgusted to wear torn boots and eat food I'd be ashamed to feed to pigs. That applies to me and my comrades. We came here to serve, not to survive."
The captain took a sharp step toward the girl, grabbed her by the collar, and barked angrily.
"Get out of here, woman! There's no room for your kind in my company!"
But the captain couldn't even imagine that the girl standing before him was anything but an ordinary woman... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

At My Wedding, My In-laws Made Fun Of My Mother In Front Of 204 Guests. My Fiancé Laughed. I Stood Up And Called Off The Wedding In Front Of Everyone And Did Something That Made Their World Fall Apart...
It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. My wedding day. I had spent months planning every detail with the man I thought was the love of my life, Mark, and his family, who had always been warm and welcoming. At least, that’s what I thought. The ceremony was set to take place in front of 204 guests—friends, relatives, and even colleagues. The air was filled with excitement and love, but little did I know, this day would change everything.
As my mother, Martha, walked into the reception hall, I noticed something wasn’t right. Her face was flushed, her usual grace nowhere to be found. She walked over to my side with a faint smile, and I immediately felt a sense of unease. But I shook it off. It was my wedding day, after all. She had every right to be a little nervous, I thought. She had always been my rock, and nothing was going to ruin this day. Or so I believed.
The first sign that something was wrong came when my soon-to-be father-in-law, Richard, stood up during the reception toast. The room went silent as he raised his glass. He was known for his bold humor, so when he started speaking, I assumed it would be a lighthearted joke, a toast to the future. But then it took a turn.
"To our dear daughter-in-law, Clara," Richard began. "Let’s just hope she doesn’t inherit her mother’s ‘eccentricity’—you know, with the way she dresses and all. Maybe Mark will get lucky and not get stuck with those ridiculous quirks." Laughter erupted from the guests, including Mark. My heart sank.
I looked over at my mother, who was now visibly shrinking into herself, her face pale, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She had never been one for confrontation, especially in front of large crowds. But seeing her embarrassed like this in front of so many people was too much to bear. Mark’s laughter cut through the air like a knife.
“Mark?” I whispered, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t even notice. His laughter, louder than anyone else’s, drowned out the words I wanted to say. I stood up from my seat, my hands trembling at my sides.
“I think we need to talk,” I said, my voice trembling but clear. Everyone went quiet. Mark turned to me, his smile faltering as he saw the hurt in my eyes. The guests hushed, waiting for the next moment in the drama. I knew what I had to do.
"Mark, I’m done," I said, my voice steady now, with no more room for doubt. “I can’t marry you. Not after what just happened. Not when you’re laughing at my mother. Not when your family disrespects her in front of everyone. I called off the wedding." There was a stunned silence, followed by the sound of chairs scraping against the floor as people stood up, shocked at what they had just witnessed. Mark's face was pale, his smile now gone.
I didn’t even look at my fiancé anymore. I only saw the hurt in my mother’s eyes. I was done pretending that everything was perfect when it clearly wasn’t... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

09/11/2025

On our wedding night, when my eyes fell on my husband’s “down there,” I shook—and only then understood why his family had given me a lakeside villa worth nearly one million dollars to wed a poor girl like me...
My name is Lily. I grew up poor in the dry, harsh winds of West Texas. My father died early, my mother was sick, and by tenth grade I had dropped out of school to work. After years of struggle, I found a position as a live-in maid for one of San Francisco’s wealthiest families—the Whitmores of Pacific Heights.
My husband, Michael Whitmore, is their only son. Handsome, refined, composed—but always carrying a veil of distance. For nearly three years, I worked under their roof, silent and unnoticed, never imagining I would step into his world.
One day, Michael’s mother, Eleanor Whitmore, summoned me. She set a marriage certificate before me and said with certainty:
“Lily, if you agree to marry Michael, the Lake Tahoe villa will be yours. It’s the family’s wedding gift.”
I froze. How could a maid stand beside their heir? I thought she was teasing, but her eyes were firm. I didn’t know why I was chosen. I only knew my mother’s medical bills were unbearable. My mind wanted to refuse—but desperation pushed me to accept.
The wedding was grand, held at The Fairmont San Francisco. In a white dress, standing beside Michael, I felt as though I were dreaming. Yet his eyes stayed cold, distant—concealing something I couldn’t grasp.
That night, the room glowed with flowers. Michael stood in his white shirt, his chiseled face etched with sorrow. As he neared me, I trembled. And at that moment, the cruel truth unfolded.
Michael was unlike other men. A congenital condition left him unable to be a husband in full. Everything became clear: the villa, the marriage, the impossible match. Not because they valued me—but because they needed someone to be his “wife in name.”
Tears clouded my vision—whether for myself or for him, I couldn’t tell. Michael lowered himself into a chair and whispered:... Watch: [in comment] - Made with AI

Address

337 Military Avenue
New Works
11432

Telephone

+19148483131

Website

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Cooking in LPBW posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Contact The Business

Send a message to Cooking in LPBW:

Shortcuts

Share

Category