Evelyn's POV
When the maid first mentioned the "cooking competition," I almost laughed in her face. Me? Competing with maids in a kitchen? What did they expect—me to chop onions with grace and smile like a sainted wife?
But the way the girl's eyes lit up as she explained it—how they always did it when he wasn't around, as their own little rebellion—I found myself saying, "Fine. I'll join."
Maybe because I was tired of sulking. Maybe because I needed to stop thinking about Damien Vale—no, Kane—for just one afternoon.
The kitchen was nothing like I expected. It wasn't stiff or silent. Pots clanged, spices flew, and flour dusted the air like snowfall. The staff moved with laughter and mischief, aprons tied crookedly, bowls clutched like shields.
And then came the twist.
"It's not just about taste," one of them explained, wagging a spoon at me. "It's about creativity. The uglier your dish looks, the more likely you are to win!"
I blinked. "What?"
They laughed. "Mr. Vale runs this house like a military camp. This is our way of… letting loose. The crazier the food, the better."
I stared at the pile of ingredients before me—vegetables, rice, sauces, things I couldn't even identify—and for the first time in days, I felt the corners of my lips twitch upward.
"Alright then," I muttered. "Let's see how badly I can ruin this."
The competition began with a roar. Knives chopped wildly, pans hissed, and someone nearly set their sleeve on fire. I hacked away at a carrot until it resembled a crime scene. My rice turned into glue. My sauce tasted like revenge itself.
The others weren't much better. One maid presented something that looked like a collapsed cake but smelled divine. Another made soup so salty it could cure a hangover in one sip.
When it was time to present, I looked down at my creation and burst out laughing. A lumpy, tragic mass of rice, vegetables, and sauce. It looked like it had already been eaten once.
The staff clapped, cheering, "Yes, Mrs. Evelyn! That's the spirit!"
I bowed dramatically. "Behold, my masterpiece: The Abomination."
The kitchen roared with laughter, and for the first time since I'd stepped foot in this house, I laughed with them—loud, unrestrained, real.
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Damien's POV
From my bunker, I leaned closer to the monitors, watching her smile—an actual smile. The sound of her laugh reached me through the speakers, sweet and sharp at the same time.
She looked… alive.
The guilt in my chest twisted tighter. I had stolen so much from her already, but here she was, fighting to find light anyway. Even if it wasn't with me.
When she held up that disaster of a dish, calling it The Abomination, I almost smiled myself. Almost.
But instead, I sat there in the shadows, silent, knowing I didn't deserve to join her laughter.
Not yet.