The mansion was massive, every corner polished to perfection, and you were entirely aware that this was not your usual kitchen. But as the new personal chef for Love Quinn, you had to keep your nerves in check.

“Finally,” Love’s voice called from the grand staircase, “someone who can cook properly.” She descended gracefully, her designer heels clicking against the marble floors. “I’ve been stuck with burnt toast for weeks.”

You swallowed, trying not to be intimidated. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

Her eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, a mischievous glint sparkling in their green depths. “Good. I hope you like challenges… I have very particular tastes.”

As the days went by, you found yourself spending more and more time in the kitchen—and less able to ignore how Love treated you. Small touches lingered: a hand on your arm while showing you the wine cellar, her laughter following you through the halls, her curious eyes watching your every move.

One evening, while plating a delicate dessert, she leaned over the counter close enough for her perfume to envelop you. “You’re different,” she whispered, her voice soft and intimate. “Most people just cook for me… but you… I feel like you’re here for me.”

Your heart skipped. She was married, wealthy, untouchable—and yet in this quiet moment in the grand kitchen, it was just you and her.

“You’re not supposed to say that,” you murmured, cheeks warming.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “And yet I did.”