Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke up to my phone buzzing nonstop, and my head was still foggy. I grabbed it and glanced at the screen, and I was wide awake in a second.

My Instagram, TikTok, and X notifications had all blown up, with every single app showing 99+.

I tapped into my "Home Kitchen Diaries" account and saw that my follower count had jumped from around 10,000 to 500,000 overnight, and it was still climbing by the second.

The surf-and-turf stew video had already hit 10 million views.

The comment section was a whole circus.

[Cutting out the trash and choosing me." Girl, what happened to you? This surf and turf stew has a whole backstory, I know it!]

[Holy crap, those ingredients, that broth color. Did she throw her entire savings into that pot?? I'm full just from watching this.]

[Am I the only one who noticed her hands? Long, slender fingers with perfect bone structure. This is hand content, and I am HERE for it!]

[You're not alone! Those are literally the most beautiful cooking hands I've ever seen!]

[So who's the "trash" though?? Girl, post an update, we need the tea!]

I scrolled through the comments and didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The internet really had a way of zeroing in on the strangest things. But "cutting out the trash" as a phrase, I had to admit, had a nice ring to it.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen. It was my best friend, Tara Sweet.

I picked up, and Tara's voice hit me before I could even say hello. "Sophia, you're blowing up. You're trending right now. Do you even know that?"

I blinked. "Trending for what?"

"Hashtag 'goodbye trash surf and turf stew!' The whole internet is trying to figure out who your 'trash' ex is. And wait, you and Jonathan are done? It's all over social media. People are saying you dumped him in the middle of a restaurant last night?"

I corrected her with a dry laugh. "More like he dumped me. But same difference."

Tara exploded. "Are you kidding me? Where is he? I'm going over there right now to rip him apart. He said your cooking was boring?

"That man wouldn't know good food if it slapped him in the face. He deserves to eat gas station hot dogs for the rest of his life."

That got a real laugh out of me, and the knot in my chest finally loosened. "Don't waste your energy on him. He's not worth it. I already threw him out along with that whole mansion. Consider it a package deal."

Tara whistled. "Good for you. So where are you staying now?"

I smiled. "I'm moving somewhere with a little more character. Somewhere I can focus on building my food brand."

I hung up and looked out the window. The sun was bright and warm, and it felt like a good day for a fresh start.

There was no way I was ever going back to Jonathan's mansion. Everything in that place was stamped with the past, and I wanted no part of it.

I called a real estate agent and moved fast. By that afternoon, I had signed a lease on a two-story townhouse with a small backyard, tucked away on a charming little street called Elm Street in the heart of downtown.

The block was lined with old brick buildings and cobblestone sidewalks, and the whole neighborhood had this quiet, settled feeling, like it had been there forever and planned to stay.

A massive oak tree stood in the backyard, its branches filtering the sunlight into soft, shifting patterns across the grass.

This was the life I wanted.

On moving day, I turned down every friend who offered to help. I hummed a song to myself and carried the boxes into my new place one by one.

This was a fresh start, and I was a whole new me. Starting today, I was the brand new Sophia Summers.

By evening, the sky changed without warning, and rain came hammering down in sheets.

I had just hauled the last box through the door and collapsed onto the couch when I heard a heavy thud from outside the front porch.

I thought the wind had knocked something over, so I didn't think much of it.

But a few minutes later, a low, broken groan cut through the sound of the rain. It was faint, but unmistakable.

No way. Was someone seriously faking an injury right on my doorstep?

I hesitated for a second, but curiosity got the better of me. I walked to the door and peered through the glass.

A tall figure was curled up right by my front steps, pressed against the red front door.

He was soaked through. His black t-shirt clung to his body, outlining broad shoulders that tapered into a narrow waist.

Rainwater dripped from the ends of his hair, trailing down a straight nose and a pair of thin, tightly pressed lips. His face was pale enough to be alarming, and one hand was pressed hard against his stomach. His whole body was shaking.

Even looking that wrecked, there was no hiding how ridiculously handsome he was. Deep-set eyes, sharp brows, sculpted features. He looked like a leading man who had walked straight off a movie screen.

Well, damn. An absolute knockout, and he looked like he was about to pass out. What a waste.

Sympathy won out in the end. It didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes, either.

I let out a sigh, gave in, and opened the door.

I called out, "Hey, you okay?"

He heard my voice and lifted his head with effort. His eyes met mine, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face for just a split second before the pain swallowed it whole.

He forced the words out through clenched teeth. "Stomach hurts."

I stared at that pale, sickly face, and my resolve crumbled.

I asked, "Can you stand? Come inside and get out of the rain."

I helped him through the door and got him settled on the living room couch. He was tall, and when he leaned against me, I caught a scent that mixed rain with something cool and faintly expensive. He was definitely not homeless.

I told him, "Hang on, let me find you some medicine."