Chapter 752
Chapter 752:
The kitchen of the Vance Estate was vast, industrial, and utterly devoid of warmth. It was a kitchen designed for caterers, not for families. Skye stood at the island, chopping onions with a vengeance.
Chop. Chop. Chop.
Each slice vented frustration—at Celeste, at Liam for being a hero, at Julian for trying to martyr himself.
She threw the onions into a pan of sizzling oil. The smell was sharp and grounding. It was real. It wasn’t corporate strategy or assassination plots. It was just dinner.
“I didn’t know you cooked p>
Skye turned. Julian was standing in the doorway. He leaned heavily on a spare cane, wearing fresh clothes—a soft gray sweater and loose trousers. His hair was damp. He looked shaky, but human. The blockers were working; the lines of agony around his mouth had softened.
“I learned,” Skye said, turning back to the stove. “In my past life. When I thought the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach p>
“And was it?” Julian asked, limping over to one of the bar stools. He sat with a wince.
“No,” Skye said bitterly. “The way to a man’s heart is apparently through psychological manipulation and martyrdom p>
Julian chuckled. It was a dry, rusty sound.
“You’re angry at him p>
“I’m furious,” Skye admitted, dumping a can of tomatoes into the pan. “He left me a drawing in the dirt, Julian. A drawing. Like we’re in kindergarten. Meanwhile, I have to run his company, fight his grandmother, and keep his best friend from overdosing on despair p>
“I wasn’t overdosing,” Julian corrected gently. “I was refusing treatment p>
“Semantics p>
The front door chimed—heavy and authoritative.
𝗥𝖾а𝘥 𝗐і𝘵𝗵𝘰𝘂t 𝗹𝗶m𝗶𝘁𝘀 о𝗇 b𝘦.c𝗼m
Skye frowned. “Are you expecting anyone p>
“No,” Julian said, his hand instinctively going to his pocket, where he likely kept a weapon these days.
Skye wiped her hands on a towel and walked to the foyer. She checked the camera feed.
Alistair Thorne stood on the porch. He wore a black leather jacket over a T-shirt, his arm still in a sling, looking like a fallen angel who had just crawled out of a bar fight. He held a bottle of wine in his good hand.
Skye opened the door.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“And you look like a housewife,” Alistair countered, eyeing her apron. “It’s a confusing look for you. I like it p>
He pushed past her, limping slightly.
“What are you doing here?” Skye asked, closing the door.
“I heard Celeste made bail—or rather, bought her way out of the indictment,” Alistair said, his voice losing its playful edge. “I came to check the perimeter. And to make sure you hadn’t done anything stupid p>