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.

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Water dripped down my skin. My chef’s coat clung cold against me.

Something inside me went still.

Dead still.

I leaned in, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Then start preparing for the street.”

Diane laughed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I live in a multi-million-dollar home.”

She had no idea.

As they stormed out, I turned, walked into my office, and called my lawyer.

It was time.

Chapter 3: The Truth Beneath the Surface
The next morning, I sat across from my attorney, Daniel Reeves, reviewing documents that changed everything.

“They believe the house belongs to Diane,” he said.

“It doesn’t,” I replied.

My grandmother had seen everything.

Before she passed, she placed the estate in a protected trust—under my name. Quietly. Intentionally.

Diane had been living there on borrowed time.

And I had let her.

Out of guilt.