Chapter 2

EDEN’S POV

“Everybody straighten the hell up, he’s coming downstairs!”

The voice cuts across the lobby sharply enough to make several employees jump at once.

I step through the entrance of The Grand Sterling Hotel without slowing down while panic spreads instantly across the room. A receptionist nearly drops a tablet, somebody at concierge fixes their posture too fast. Bell staff suddenly start moving like their lives depend on it.

All of it feels fake, cold air still clings to my coat from outside, but the lobby is warm, polished, expensive in the way luxury hotels always are. Marble floors, gold lighting, fresh flowers trying too hard to smell expensive.

And underneath all of it, tension. “First impression?” Richard asks beside me.

I glance around once more, catching every tiny thing people think nobody notices. A guest waiting too long, a manager smiling too hard. Staff reacting instead of working naturally.

“It looks good,” I say flatly. “But it’s unstable.” Richard exhales quietly through his nose. “You’ve been here less than a minute.”

“That’s enough.” Pressure tells the truth faster than reports ever will. The second I start walking, the atmosphere tightens harder around me. Conversations stop too quickly. Employees straighten instantly when they notice me looking their way.

I hate that shit, people perform instead of working honestly the second power enters a room. “Mr. Duncan.” A manager rushes toward me with a polished smile already waiting. “We’re honored to officially welco……..”

“If your staff panic this badly during regular operations,” I cut in calmly, “then we already have bigger problems than I expected.”

The smile slips immediately, good, at least that reaction was real. Richard walks beside me while the manager scrambles awkwardly to recover. “You could try not terrifying everybody within the first five minutes.”

“I’m not here to comfort people.” We pass the front desk. A receptionist quickly minimizes another tab on the computer screen when she notices me looking.

Nervous, poorly trained or hiding something. The elevator doors slide open and silence settles around us the second they close behind us.

For one second my reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls, and suddenly memory hits hard enough to tighten my chest.

Bright hospital lights, too white. A weak hand slipping from mine, her voice. I can’t remember exactly what Chloe said near the end anymore, and somehow that pisses me off more than grief itself.

Five years later and parts of her are already fading. My jaw tightens hard enough to ache. “Eden.” Richard’s voice cuts through the silence. I blink once. “I’m fine.” He looks unconvinced.

The elevator opens before he can say anything else. The office floor feels quieter than the lobby downstairs, but the tension still exists here too. Conversations stop immediately when I walk by, employees react too fast.

“Staff’s been nervous since the acquisition announcement,” Richard says as we walk. “They’re too focused on me.”

“Well…….” He glances sideways at me. “You do scare the hell out of people.”

“Yes.”

That earns a short laugh from him. Amara intercepts us halfway down the hall, dressed perfectly as always, calm in that cold corporate way she’s mastered over the years.

“We should discuss public strategy before department inspections,” she says carefully. “People are already forming opinions.”

“I don’t care about opinions.”

“You should care about presentation.” I stop walking then, finally meeting her gaze directly. “I care about whether this place works.”

A brief silence then Amara nods once slowly. “Fine, then I’ll handle appearances while you break everything else apart.”

Richard opens my office door, but I barely glance inside before speaking again. “Kitchen first.” Richard pauses slightly. “Already?”

“Yes.” Every hotel hides behind polished lobbies and expensive furniture. Kitchens don’t, pressure exposes things too quickly there. We take the service elevator down instead of the main one because I don’t need another performance.

The doors open and heat hits first the noise. Voices crash over each other while knives slam against cutting boards and oil spits loudly from the stove. Steam thickens the air, metal crashes somewhere farther down the line.

The kitchen feels alive in a way the rest of the building doesn’t. Nobody notices me immediately, and strangely enough, that’s the first thing I respect about this place.

They’re too busy working. “Not bad,” Richard murmurs beside me. I don’t answer because this isn’t about good or bad. It’s about survival and this kitchen survives pressure better than anything else I’ve seen in the building so far.

The staff are tense, I can see it in the tighter shoulders and sharper movements the second they realize management is standing there but the line doesn’t break, orders still move, plates still leave.

Interesting, then I notice her, not fully at first. A plate lands crooked on the pass and her hand fixes it before anyone else reacts. Somebody reaches for garnish and she’s already placing it before he asks.

The kitchen shifts around her naturally, nobody questions her. “Table six,” someone calls loudly. Without even looking up, her voice cuts smoothly through the noise. “I see it, send it when it’s ready, not before.”

“Yes, Chef.” No argument, that catches my attention immediately. People don’t respond like that unless authority’s been earned the hard way.

I step closer slowly, studying the line more carefully now. A pan slides toward her and she catches it without looking. Another cook nearly sends out a broken sauce and she stops it instantly.

No wasted movement even with me standing ten feet away watching everything. “Who runs this kitchen?” I ask quietly. The manager beside me answers too quickly. “Chef Soto, sir.”

Soto, the name settles strangely in my chest. Then she shifts slightly toward the pass, and for the first time I see her face clearly.

Something tightens low in my chest immediately, familiar.  Not Chloe, nothing like Chloe but something underneath it pulls at me.

Maybe the eyes, the mouth, hell, I don’t know. I just know my attention locks onto her too long before I force myself to focus again. “She’s holding this place together,” Richard says quietly beside me.

“Yes.” Because this kind of discipline doesn’t happen accidentally, somebody bled for it. A dish slides onto the pass in front of me.

The manager straightens instantly. “Would you like to sample tonight’s specials, sir?”

Normally I’d refuse, Instead, I pick up the spoon. One taste and everything inside me stops. Butter, citrus, rosemary. My grip tightens instantly around the spoon.

That’s impossible, the flavor crashes into memory so fast. Late nights in penthouses, Chloe barefoot in my kitchen laughing while stealing ingredients straight from the pan.

Same balance, same exact finish. For one second I actually can’t move. “Sir?” Richard’s voice sounds farther away now.

I stare down at the sauce again then slowly look back toward her. She’s still working and hasn’t looked at me once but nothing about this feels random anymore.

“Who made this?” I ask quietly. The manager answers immediately. “Chef Janice Soto.” At the exact same moment she finally turns toward me.