Chapter 3
The ambient chatter of the surrounding guests began to dull in Adrian’s ears as he stared at the blackened edges of the recipe book. The book was a relic; it contained decades of Agnes’s life, her livelihood, and her legacy.
"Agnes, it has been too long," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifyingly calm register as he knelt slightly beside her chair. "What brings you to me tonight?"
Before the trembling elderly woman could form the words, Estelle stepped forward, her satin evening gown rustling sharply against the floor. Her fair, rosy face was twisted into a mask of vain irritation. She hated when Adrian’s past bled into her pristine, curated present. She looked down at Agnes, her eyes completely devoid of empathy.
"Really, Adrian," Estelle sighed loudly, ensuring the nearby guests could hear her American accent. "We are hosting the governor in twenty minutes. This is a five-star hotel opening, not a charity shelter."
"Estelle. Be quiet," Adrian commanded without looking up at his fiancée.
Estelle’s face flushed with indignant anger. She crossed her arms, her diamond engagement ring catching the luminous light. She looked directly into Agnes’s tear-filled eyes, her gaze dropping to the charred, ruined book clutched in the old woman’s trembling hands. She gestured dismissively at it with a manicured finger.
"I don't know why you even brought that filthy thing in here," Estelle said, letting out a small, incredibly cruel laugh. "Nobody wants your burnt recipes."
The words sliced through the air with devastating precision.
Agnes’s hopeful, exhausted expression collapsed instantly. The cruel remark broke the last fragile thread holding her together. A profound, heartbreaking sob escaped the elderly woman’s lips as she bowed her head, her rosy cheeks wet with sudden tears. She curled inward, trying to hide the scorched book from the mocking eyes of the billionaire's fiancée.
Ivy’s expressive almond-shaped eyes flashed with intense, protective fury. The beautiful maid immediately stepped closer, resting a firm, reassuring hand on Agnes’s trembling shoulder.
"You don't need to listen to her, Agnes," Ivy whispered fiercely, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. "You are safe here."
"How dare you speak to her?" Estelle snapped, turning her venomous glare toward the maid. "You are staff. You will keep your mouth shut, or I will have security throw you both out onto the street where you belong."
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Adrian did not blink. The cold, penetrating stare that had terrified rival syndicate leaders across the country slowly shifted away from Agnes and locked onto the floor. The muscles in his broad shoulders tensed beneath his tailored three-piece suit. The gentle golden warmth of the room remained, but the atmosphere had just plummeted to absolute freezing.
"Estelle," Adrian said. The single word was not a request. It was an executioner's bell.
