Chapter 1

JANICE’S POV

“Tell me the fucking truth.” Eden’s voice sounds broken. “Who the hell are you?”

“I can explain,” I whisper, but even I hear how broken the words sound.

“Explain what?” His laugh comes out sharp and ugly. “Explain why I spent months grieving one woman while falling in love with another one wearing her face?”

My stomach drops so hard I almost lose my balance. Fluorescent lights burn overhead, too white, and cold, making the hospital hallway feel unreal while funeral flowers downstairs still fill the air with that sickly sweet smell Chloe always hated.

Eden looks destroyed in the kind of quiet way that feels worse because his grief is sitting right there in front of me, raw enough to choke on.

His hands are shaking, Eden Duncan never shakes. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I whisper, and immediately hate how pathetic it sounds.

His eyes shut for one rough second before he drags a hand through his hair hard enough to look painful. “Then what exactly did you mean for?” he asks quietly. “Because right now I can’t tell what was real anymore.”

That feels worse than yelling because some part of me understands exactly why he sounds like that.

The lie was supposed to last days, maybe weeks. Just long enough for him to survive Chloe’s death without completely breaking apart under it.

That’s what I told myself in the beginning then grief blurred everything, time blurred everything and somewhere along the way, Eden stopped looking at me like Chloe.

He started looking at me like me. “I was trying to protect you.”

The second I say that something breaks across his face. “Protect me?” His voice cracks sharply. “Jesus Christ, Janice.”

My throat tightens painfully. He knows my name now, not Chloe and hearing it from him like this feels unbearable.

“You don’t get to decide what destroys me,” he says, breathing harder now. “You don’t get to stand there wearing her face while I…….”

His voice cuts off suddenly. I take one step toward him automatically. “Eden……”

“Don’t.” I stop instantly. For one horrible second neither of us moves. Machines beep somewhere nearby, footsteps echo farther down the hallway. The entire world keeps going while mine quietly collapses.

“She begged me,” I whisper finally, tears burning behind my eyes now. “Chloe begged me not to tell you while you were already falling apart. She thought if you lost everything at once it would destroy you.”

His face tightens. “She died, Janice.”

“I know.”

“No.” His voice drops lower, rough enough to scrape against my chest. “You don’t, because every time I looked at you after that……. every fucking time……. I thought some part of her was still here.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.” Silence crashes between us after that then suddenly monitors explode loudly somewhere behind us.

Shouting follows immediately after, Eden sways once. My stomach drops hard. “Eden?”

He grabs the wall briefly like he’s trying to steady himself, but his face has gone frighteningly pale.

“Hey…..” Then his knees give out. “Eden!” I lunge forward just as his body hits the hospital floor hard enough to echo through the hallway.

**********

Five years later, I still hear that sound sometimes. Usually at night when the apartment gets too quiet, when fear crawls under my skin hard enough to keep me awake.

Morning crashes into the kitchen before I can think too hard about any of it. Heat slams into me from every direction while steam thickens the air and knives hammer against cutting boards fast enough to sound violent. Oil spits from the stove, metal crashes somewhere behind me, voices overlapping loudly enough to make the whole room feel sharp.

Nobody notices I barely slept, nobody cares. Service keeps moving whether you’re exhausted, grieving, or barely holding yourself together.

If you break, the line breaks with you. “Table twelve is dragging,” I snap, grabbing the plate before it reaches the pass. “Fix the sauce before it leaves.”

“Chef, I was trying to……”

“You were trying and still messed it up.” I shove the spoon back toward the line cook after tasting it once. “Too much stock, less talking, more fixing.”

“Yes, Chef.” Orders keep slamming in nonstop. A garnish slips, I fix it. A steak overcooks, I  send it back. A sauce starts separating, I catch it before anybody else notices.

The line moves again. “Chef.” Celine steps beside me while plating desserts. “We’re almost out of reduction.”

“Stretch it for three more plates,” I answer immediately. “Then start another batch before we get screwed.”

“Got it.” That’s why I trust her, a plate lands crooked on the pass. My hand moves automatically, straightening it before irritation fully settles in my chest. “Focus.”

“Sorry, Chef.” For a few seconds everything aligns again then somebody yells from prep, “Orders stacking in the back!”

“I can fucking see that,” I shoot back, already plating faster. The kitchen pushes harder around me. 

“New ownership finalized this morning,” Celine says beside me casually while chopping herbs.

My hand stills briefly over the plate. Tiny movement, nobody notices then I force myself to keep going. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters upstairs.” Her voice lowers. “Management’s freaking out.”

Of course they are, people lose their minds the second power walks into a building. They start panicking about who gets replaced. 

“Then they need to get over it,” I say sharply. “Or they don’t stay.” Celine glances at me for half a second too long like she hears something underneath it, but she lets it go.

By the time service finally ends, my entire body aches. The smell of butter, garlic, smoke, and grease follows me out into the cold New York air while traffic screams through the streets under bright lights and distant sirens echo somewhere uptown.

The city never slows down, sometimes I think it would swallow weak people whole without even noticing. I don’t stay outside long, I go home.

The apartment is quiet when I walk in. I close the door softly and head straight toward Jack’s room without bothering with the lights, the hallway glow is enough.

He’s asleep beneath dinosaur blankets, small body curled toward the wall.

My chest tightens painfully when I hear him breathing. Not bad, just slightly uneven enough to make panic slide instantly under my skin.

I sit carefully beside him, exhaustion finally catching me now that I’ve stopped moving. My fingers brush gently through his hair while I count his breaths automatically.

I always count. “Mama?” His sleepy voice nearly destroys me every time. “I’m here,” I whisper softly.

“Did you win today?” A quiet laugh escapes me. He always asks that like kitchen service is some kind of game. “Yeah,” I whisper. “We won.” His tiny smile appears instantly. “Good.”

His fingers wrap sleepily around mine beneath the blanket. “Mama?”

“Hmm?”

“Eli’s dad picked him up from school today.” Something tight twists low in my stomach. “He says dads tell better dinosaur stories than moms.” Jack yawns. “Is that true?”

I smooth his hair back carefully. “I think moms tell pretty good stories too.”

“Yeah but……..” His sleepy voice softens. “Do you think my dad would’ve liked dinosaurs?” The question slices straight through me.

My chest locks so hard, not because he asked but because one day he’ll ask harder questions.  I force my voice steady anyway. “I think your dad would’ve loved everything about you.”

Jack smiles softly at that then finally falls asleep again. I stay there long after, listening to him breathe. This is what I protect.

Morning comes too fast, the kitchen fills quickly once prep starts, heat already rising while cooks move around each other half awake.

I step into it automatically. “Chef,” Celine says beside me while checking inventory sheets.

“What?”

“There’s talk upstairs.”

“There’s always talk upstairs.”

“Not like this.” Something in her tone makes me look at her. “They released the ownership details.”

“Okay.” Celine watches me closely now. “Duncan Enterprises bought the hotel.”

Everything inside me goes still. No fucking way, for one horrible second, I genuinely can’t breathe. 

“Janice?” I force my hands to move again before anybody notices. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“They said the new CEO’s personally taking over operations.” My pulse starts slamming hard against my ribs. “What’s his name?” I ask carefully.

Celine’s eyes stay locked on mine. “Eden Duncan.” The plate slips from my hands and crashes hard against the kitchen floor.