Chapter 800
The next morning, I woke to the sound of crashing pots.
I went downstairs to the sleek, stainless-steel kitchen. Lucian’s chef, a burly man with a military buzz cut named Grigori, stood in the corner, looking terrified. Alistair leaned against the counter, wearing nothing but sweatpants and bandages, trying to crack an egg with one hand. His face was pale, beads of sweat on his forehead showing the immense effort it took just to stand.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making real food,” Alistair grunted, dropping a piece of shell into the bowl. “This guy tried to give me an egg-white omelet. Egg whites are an abomination.”
“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” I scolded, taking the egg from him.
“I’m healing. Movement is good.” He leaned heavily against the island, clearly in pain but too stubborn to admit it.
“Sit.” I pointed to a stool.
I looked at Grigori. “Do you have chicken? Flour? Carrots?”
𝘚𝗁𝖺𝗿𝖾 𝘆о𝘶𝗿 𝘁h𝗼𝘂𝘨𝗁t𝘀 𝘰𝗻 𝗴a𝗅n𝗼𝘃𝖾𝘭𝘴.𝖼o𝗺
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Step aside.”
I hadn’t cooked in a long time. In my past life, before the rebirth, I used to cook for Liam. Elaborate meals that went cold while he worked late. It was a skill born of loneliness. But now, I used it for love.
I kneaded the dough for the noodles. It was therapeutic. The rhythmic motion calmed my mind.
Thirty minutes later, the kitchen smelled of roasted chicken, thyme, and comfort.
I placed a steaming bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup in front of Alistair.
“Eat,” I said.
He took a spoonful. He closed his eyes. “Okay. This is better than steak.”
Lucian walked in, sniffing the air. “What is that smell? Is that… gluten?”
“It’s joy, Lucian,” Alistair said, guarding his bowl. “Get your own.”
I handed a bowl to Lucian. He looked at it suspiciously, then tasted it. His eyebrows shot up.
“This is… acceptable,” Lucian admitted, taking a larger spoonful. “Highly acceptable.”
“It’s magic,” Liam said, wandering in and grabbing a bowl. “Skye’s soup raises the dead.”
We sat around the island, eating in silence. For a moment, we weren’t soldiers or CEOs. We were just people—tired and hungry—finding solace in warmth.
Then Parker’s face appeared on the wall monitor.
“Skye,” Parker said, his voice urgent. “The short is working. Cain Pharma is in freefall. But… there’s a backlash.”
“What kind?” I asked, wiping my hands.
“Ethan just posted a bounty on the Dark Web,” Parker said. “Open contract. Fifty million dollars. In untraceable crypto.”
“Fifty million?” Liam choked on his soup. “Where did he get that kind of money?”
“Emergency reserves,” Alistair said darkly. “He’s emptying his war chest. He’s desperate.”
“Is the bounty for Alistair?” I asked.
“No.” Parker hesitated. “For you.”
The room went deadly silent. Alistair dropped his spoon. The clatter was deafening.
“Show me,” Alistair commanded.
The screen shifted. A photo of me, taken from the gala, with a digital target over my face.
Target: Skye Sterling. Dead or Alive. Price: 50M.
Alistair stood up. The pain in his shoulder didn’t matter. The exhaustion didn’t matter. He radiated a cold, lethal fury. But as he rose, he swayed, gripping the counter to steady himself. A fresh stain of red seeped through the bandage on his shoulder.
“He put a price on her head,” Alistair whispered.
“We need to lock down the facility,” Lucian said, already moving to the security panel. “Fifty million brings out the elite. The crazies. Everyone.”
“Let them come,” Alistair said, reaching for his gun on the counter. “I’ll kill them all.”
“Sit down, Alistair,” I said calmly. “You’re bleeding.”
I pointed to the fresh bloom of blood on his shoulder dressing.
“I don’t care,” he snarled.
“I do.” I walked over to him, placing my hands on his chest. “We are safe here. Lucian has the perimeter. You can barely stand, let alone fight. You need to rest so you can command the defense when they actually get here.”
He looked down at me, his eyes wild with fear—not for himself, but for me. “I can’t lose you, Skye.”
“You won’t,” I promised. “Now finish your soup. We have a war to plan.”