Chapter 2

The morning mist still clung to the asphalt when I pulled my sedan into the commissary kitchen's back lot.

A part of me—a stubborn, exhausted sliver I hadn't realized I was still holding onto—had expected Marcus to be bluffing.

I half-expected him to have realized the logistics were impossible without me and left the truck parked in its usual spot.

The sprawling corner space where our custom-built food truck had lived for six years was entirely empty.

I parked and walked over to the vacant concrete.

The grease-stained crescent on the pavement was the only thing left of six years of labor.

My fingers automatically brushed against my coat pocket, reaching for the set of master keys I had carried every single day.

The pocket hung flat and empty against my hip.

My phone vibrated in my passenger seat.

When I reached for it, a new text notification lit up the screen.

Theo: Marcus said you left upset. I get it. Last night was a lot. Let's not make any permanent decisions while we're both angry. We'll talk when we stop tonight. Love you.

He thought this was a fight.

It wasn't.

My chest tightened, a cold, sharp realization settling over my ribs.

He hadn't registered that I had broken up with him; he just assumed I was having a flare-up of the temper he'd spent years managing.

I opened my banking app, looking at the numbers.

Eight thousand, four hundred and twenty dollars.

It was my personal safety net—the money I had set aside quietly, hoping to use it for our first brick-and-mortar storefront once the truck turned a profit.

It had to cover everything now.

I swallowed hard, pulled up my recent calls, and dialed the upscale catering office handling our venue reservation.

The receptionist answered on the second ring.

"Vale-Sterling Wedding Planning, this is Chloe."

"Hi, Chloe," I said.

"This is Sienna Vale. I need to cancel the venue hold for next Tuesday."

There was a brief pause.

"Oh—Ms. Vale? Would you like me to move the tasting to a later date? Mr. Grant was very particular about—"

"No," I cut in.

"Cancel it."

"The tasting or the hold?"

I paused, staring through the windshield at the empty grease stain on the asphalt.

"Both."

"Done," Chloe murmured softly.

I hung up, opened my navigation app, and stared at the saved destination: Wedding Tasting — Tuesday, 2:00 PM.

I tapped the screen, hit the trash icon, and deleted the route.

Then, I dialed Nia Brooks.

"Sienna," Nia answered, the background noise of rolling delivery carts filling the line.

"I saw the livestream. You're calling about the rooftop?"

"Next Tuesday," I said, leaning against my locked car door.

"I need the pavilion for a pop-up dinner."

"Fifty covers?"

"Thirty," I corrected.

"Fixed menu."

"You don't have a prep team," Nia said, her voice dry.

"Who's washing dishes? Who's running the floor?"

"Maya can run the floor if she's free. I'll hire two dishwashers," I said, keeping my voice level.

"Thirty seats, one seating."

"You asked Maya?"

I hesitated for a fraction of a second.

"Not yet."

Nia let out a short, dry breath through her nose.

"You're asking for a lot of stress, Sienna. I run a business, not a charity. The deposit is fifteen hundred. Non-refundable."

I didn't argue.

I went through the banking app and transferred the funds, watching my balance drop instantly by fifteen hundred dollars.

A receipt pinged in my inbox.

I hung up with Nia and sat there for a moment, the engine cold, my hands resting on the steering wheel.

I needed ingredients.

I needed a supplier who wouldn't collapse the second Marcus picked up the phone.

I started scrolling down my contacts, skipping three names I knew would say no, until I found the one I hadn't called in almost two years.

I dialed.

He picked up on the third ring.

"Hector," I said, keeping my voice steady.

"I'm doing a small pop-up next week. I need brisket, ghost peppers, and standard produce. Can you put me down for a Tuesday delivery? I can pay cash."

There was a long pause on the other end.

"Sienna... look, you know I'd help you if it were just me. If I could toss a box of brisket in your trunk on the side, I would."

"So what's the problem?"

"Marcus called the main office this morning," Hector said, his voice dropping uncomfortably.

"He didn't make threats, Sienna. He just made it clear what our account status means if we supply a side gig for you."

"I understand, Hector."

"I'm sorry, kid."

I clicked end.

I sat in the quiet car, staring at the empty patch of pavement where my livelihood used to sit.

I scrolled past Hector.

Past three more names I knew would say no.

Then I stopped on one I hadn't called in almost two years.

Elias Moreno.

I hit Call.