Chapter 7

The kitchen of the Vance estate was massive, outfitted with industrial stainless-steel appliances.

Marge stood by the marble island, one hand planted firmly on her hip, the other-her right-still visibly stiff from the encounter days earlier. A faint, yellowing bruise was just visible beneath the cuff of her silk sleeve, and she kept the wrist held at an awkward, protective angle. She glared at Cora.

"The head chef is off today," Marge announced, her voice dripping with malice. "Since you have so much free time to insult your husband, you will cook dinner. A full French service for ten people. On the table by seven sharp."

Cora looked at the mountain of raw vegetables and cheap cuts of meat Marge had piled on the counter.

Cora didn't argue. She gave a slow, obedient nod.

Marge smirked, satisfied that she had put her daughter-in-law back in her place. She turned and strode out of the kitchen, though her injured arm hung a little too carefully at her side instead of swinging naturally.

The moment Marge's footsteps faded, Cora walked to the heavy wooden kitchen doors. She slid the thick metal deadbolt into place with a loud clack.

She turned around and ignored the pile of cheap food. She walked over to the massive, walk-in commercial refrigerator.

Cora bypassed the standard shelves and opened the locked reserve drawer. Inside sat the Vance family's most prized ingredients.

She pulled out a massive slab of A5 Wagyu beef, a tin of Beluga caviar, and a jar of fresh black truffles.

Cora tied a white apron around her waist. She fired up the professional gas range. Her hands moved with the precision of a surgeon. She utilized her knowledge of molecular gastronomy, perfectly searing the Wagyu to a flawless medium-rare.

The rich, intoxicating smell of roasting meat and truffles filled the kitchen. It seeped under the door and drifted through the hallways.

At six-thirty, someone pounded on the kitchen door.

"Mrs. Vance? Dinner status?" a maid called out.

Cora ignored it. She sat down at the small prep table and ate every single bite of the Wagyu, topping it with generous spoonfuls of caviar. It was the best meal she had eaten since waking up in this nightmare.

At exactly seven o'clock, the Vance family was seated around the long mahogany dining table. Their stomachs growled. The smell had driven them crazy.

Marge sat at the head of the table, a smug smile on her face, waiting to criticize whatever slop Cora brought out.

The dining room doors swung open.

Cora walked in slowly, pushing a silver serving cart. She stopped at the head of the table.

Every eye locked onto the cart.

There was only one plate on it. It was completely empty, save for a few smears of brown truffle sauce.

Cora pulled the linen napkin from her collar. She wiped her mouth and let out a soft, elegant burp.

"Delicious," Cora said.

Marge stared at the empty plate. Her jaw dropped. She slammed her good hand on the table. "Where is our food?" she shrieked.

Cora gave a helpless shrug. "I was starving. I accidentally ate all the Wagyu and the caviar. There's some raw celery in the fridge if you're hungry."

Leland slammed both hands onto the table and shot up from his chair. His face was purple.

"You selfish, crazy bitch!" Leland roared. He marched toward her, raising his arm to flip the silver cart over.

Cora gripped the handle of the cart. Her eyes snapped away from Leland and locked directly onto Beatrice, who was sitting halfway down the table.

Before Leland could reach her, Cora spoke. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a gunshot.

"You know, I noticed the strangest thing today," Cora said casually. "Jagger's jawline. It looks exactly like Julian's."

The dining room instantly went dead silent.

Crash.

Beatrice dropped her crystal wine glass. It shattered against the hardwood floor, splashing red wine all over her expensive silk dress.

Julian, sitting across from her, froze completely. His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened in sheer panic.

Preston, Beatrice's husband, frowned. He looked at his wife's pale, terrified face, and then slowly turned his head to look at his brother-in-law, Julian.

Marge and Leland stopped in their tracks, completely derailed by the sudden tension.

"What... what are you talking about?" Beatrice stammered, her voice shrill and trembling. "You're insane!"

Cora let go of the cart. She offered a sweet, innocent smile.

"Just an observation," Cora said lightly. "Probably just a coincidence."

She turned around and walked out of the dining room.

Behind her, the silence stretched for another agonizing second before the room exploded into chaotic shouting. Preston demanded to know why Beatrice dropped her glass. Julian tried to laugh it off, his voice cracking.

Cora walked up the stairs, a cold smile on her lips. She had just dropped a grenade into their laps. They would tear each other apart before they ever came after her again.

Leland's humiliated voice echoed from the dining room, screaming at the butler to order takeout.