Chapter 3

During my stay in the hospital, Charles kept saying he was buried in work. At first, he came to see me every day, but before long, his visits became rare.

When it was finally time for me to go home, it wasn't him who came—it was his assistant.

"Where's Charles?" I asked.

The assistant hesitated for a moment before replying, "Mr. Reed found out Ms. Lane likes the chestnut cake from Bruiville, so he drove there early this morning to get it himself."

Bruiville was hours away—five, round trip.

"While he was on the road, he realized today was your discharge day," the assistant continued, sympathy flickering in his eyes. "There was no way he could make it back in time, so he sent me to pick you up."

I liked the chestnut cake from Bruiville, too.

I'd once pouted to Charles about it, and he'd only laughed, ruffling my hair.

"You little glutton," he'd teased. "Next time I'm out there for work, I'll grab you some."

He'd brushed me off with a casual promise.

But for Emily, he didn't even need a reason. He went all the way there just for her.

My phone rang. It was Charles.

He sounded unusually cheerful. "Soph, you're in for a treat!

"Em was craving that chestnut cake you're always talking about, so I picked up extra for you, too. And she's coming over tonight to celebrate you coming home."

Then, as if it were nothing, he added, "Oh, and don't forget to make your signature stew. The housekeeper never gets it right. Em loves stew, so show her what you can do."

"Charles," I said, my voice turning cold. "So your idea of celebrating me coming home is making me cook for everyone?"

Before he could respond, I hung up.

When I got home, none of my usual fruit was there on the table.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, only to realize it wasn't the kind I usually drank either.

"The setup was Mr. Reed's idea," the housekeeper explained. "These are all Ms. Lane's favorites. She's been coming by a lot lately."

I froze. "Wasn't Charles supposed to be drowning in work?"

The housekeeper shook her head. "Ms. Lane's been dropping by all the time, and Mr. Reed is always right there with her. He hardly even goes into the office these days."

She pulled out her phone, showing me a photo. "Look. Yesterday, Ms. Lane played the piano, and Charles was clapping for her like her biggest fan."

We had a piano in the living room. Neither of us knew how to play it.

I used to wonder why he even bought it.

He'd run his fingers over the keys sometimes, his voice soft. "Just a small wish," he'd said.

I hadn't understood then. Now, it was crystal clear.

In the photo, Emily looked stunning. Her slender fingers moved across the piano keys with effortless grace.

Charles leaned against the wall, arms folded, his gaze locked on her like she was the only person in the world.

Who else could hold his heart like that? From beginning to end, it had always been Emily.

Exhaustion weighed me down, and I slipped into my room to rest, only to fall into another nightmare where I kept dying over and over again.

I woke up with my heart racing, only to hear laughter drifting up from downstairs.

"You always talk big about your cooking, Charlie. Can you actually pull it off?" Emily teased.

"Just watch me nail it!" Charles replied, his voice full of confidence.

It was Charles and Emily.

I dragged myself downstairs, feeling exhausted. The housekeeper had already been shooed out of the kitchen by Charles and Emily.

"Oh my, Mr. Reed is actually cooking himself today? You never see that!" the nanny remarked with a cheerful grin. "He must be doing this to celebrate you coming home—"

But Charles' voice cut through from the kitchen. "Em, I bought all these ingredients just for you, so eat plenty later!"

The nanny instantly clammed up, scratched her head with embarrassment, and made a quick exit.

I stood at the doorway, watching them work side by side.

Emily was acting as his sous chef, and Charles was the head chef. They looked so natural together, so right. I couldn't help thinking maybe I was the outsider here.

Emily was chopping some bell peppers when she suddenly hissed. "Oh, my hand. It's burning."

Charles grabbed her hand, rushing to the sink. "Em, bell pepper burns are no joke! What if you get a rash?"

The scar on my leg throbbed again, a sharp, dull ache that refused to fade.

I rubbed at it a bit too obviously, and they both turned toward me.

"Soph, you're up... Is your leg hurting again?" Charles asked with concern.

He stepped closer, reaching for my pant leg before stopping himself.

"Let's check it later. The scar might scare Em," he said.

He led me to the couch. "You were right on the phone. You're still healing. How could I make you cook?"

Emily walked over, smiling, and handed me an apple. "Yeah, I already scolded Charlie for that. Ms. Grant, just relax and let us handle dinner."

They went back into the kitchen, laughter echoing between them while I sat there, feeling like a guest in my own house.

Dinner came out late. Emily's dish was pitch black—she'd definitely burned it.

She made a face, ready to toss it out.

But Charles swooped in and grabbed it first. "I love anything you cook, Em!" he said.

I remembered the first time I'd cooked for him and burned the dish too.

Charles freaked out, whipped around, and dumped the whole thing straight into the trash. "Are you trying to poison someone, Soph? Guess you need more practice."

I thought I'd cry at that memory, but when I touched my face, my skin was dry. Not a single tear left to shed.