The heat of the kitchen never frightened Elena. It steadied her. It gave her something honest—fire that responded to skill, not emotion. Oil that hissed only when it should. Steel that yielded only to precision. In that space, nothing lied.

“Vanessa needs a position,” Diane said, stepping closer. “You’ll make her the manager here. Salary, profit share, everything.”

Not a request. A command.

I stared at her.

At the audacity.

At the same woman who left me homeless.

I didn’t yell.

I reached for a dirty apron from a nearby station and tossed it at Vanessa’s feet.

“I need someone for the patio tonight,” I said calmly. “Minimum wage. You start now, or you leave.”

Vanessa recoiled. “Are you serious?!”

Diane snapped.

“She is too important for that!” she screamed. “How dare you treat her like this!”

Before I could react, she shoved me.

Then grabbed a glass of ice water—

—and threw it straight into my face.

The entire restaurant fell silent.