His Secret Empire, Her Shattered Heart

I'd taken a private chef gig through a domestic staffing app. Thirty thousand dollars an hour.

The client was a young woman. She wanted home-cooked dishes, but they had to look, smell, and taste impeccable.

"My boyfriend made fun of me for not being able to cook, and I need to shut him up for good!"

"But I genuinely have zero talent. I almost blew up the rice cooker."

"Lucky for me it's his money, so I don't feel bad spending it. Please, you have to help me!"

Dirk Butler was an ordinary office worker. His job wore him out, and his stomach had always been sensitive.

To help him get healthier, I'd spent months experimenting with new recipes, perfecting every dish. When it came to cooking, I was confident.

But I'd barely finished plating the first course when the front door opened.

The girl's head whipped toward the man walking in.

"Oh no, you're back early! You could've at least warned me!"

The man's voice dripped with affection.

"Dummy. I knew you'd hire someone to cheat. Caught you red-handed."

"I'm the CEO of Butler Group. You think I'd let my baby slave away in a kitchen?"

"Smells pretty good, though. Where'd you find this cook?"

The moment I heard that voice, I froze and turned around.

The man standing there, dressed head to toe in designer clothes.

It was my boyfriend, Dirk Butler. The one who supposedly made four thousand a month.

...

Hot oil splattered onto the back of my hand, but it was like my nerves had gone dead. I just stood there, staring at the two of them.

Freda Henson let out a pouty little huff.

"Sweet talk won't save you. This lady charges thirty thousand an hour. Watch your wallet!"

Dirk hadn't noticed me. He was too busy ruffling Freda's hair with that same indulgent tenderness.

"Don't underestimate your man. I'm worth over a hundred million. Thirty grand is pocket change."

"Even if it were three million an hour, as long as my Freda's happy, it's worth every penny."

Freda melted under the flattery and tilted her face up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Smart answer."

"I just had the first dish finished. Try it?"

"Sure. Whatever you say."

Dirk turned with a smile still on his lips. The instant his eyes met mine, he went rigid.

Freda assumed it was the aroma of the food that had stopped him in his tracks. She beamed with pride.

"Not bad, right? Ms. Finch is an amazing cook. She even has a certified nutritionist license!"

Six months ago, Dirk had been rushed to the hospital with acute gastritis.

His face had been twisted in pain, but he'd forced himself to smile and told me not to worry.

I'd cried so hard I couldn't see straight. After that, I went and got my nutritionist certification.

To make medicinal cuisine taste good enough that he'd actually eat it, I'd burned my hands more times than I could count. The scars on the backs of my hands still hadn't faded.

When Dirk said nothing, Freda shot me a suspicious glance.

"What? Do you two know each other?"

Dirk snapped out of it and flicked Freda lightly on the forehead.

"What are you thinking? She's a good cook. Some people at the office hired her before."

Freda burst out laughing.

"Fair point. The CEO of Butler Group, knowing some private cook? As if."

"Ms. Finch, go ahead and bring the dishes to the dining room."

Dirk didn't look at me again. He treated me like hired help who didn't warrant a second glance.

Something lodged itself behind my ribs, heavy and suffocating.

As I served the food, my hands moved on autopilot, picking every last piece of scallion out of the bowl.

By the time I realized what I'd done, Freda's surprised voice had already filled the room.

"How did you know I don't eat scallions?"

I froze. Freda's eyes lit up like she'd figured something out, and she gave Dirk a playful shove.

"I knew it! You told her ahead of time. That's why you two were acting so weird just now!"