CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

~Riya~

Days turned into weeks, and the rhythm of my new life began to take shape.

Morning after morning, I woke to the aroma and the endless shuffle of feet in Dorian Steele’s restaurant. Somewhere along the line, I stopped trembling whenever his voice echoed through the hallway. I still feared him, but the fear no longer ruled me.

Dorian was a wolf who thrived in the human world, his success a badge of pride. To the humans, he was a genius entrepreneur; to the wolves, a symbol of dominance.

Each day followed a pattern: washing dishes until my fingers wrinkled, chopping vegetables, tasting sauces, cleaning tables. One day I learned to fold napkins into roses; the next, how to balance a tray without spilling a single drop. I touched every corner of the restaurant, each task sharpening my skills into those of a restaurant expert.

On the final day of the week, everything changed.

I had just finished wiping the kitchen counter when a tall figure appeared at the doorway. “Miss Riya Wintle,” Dorian’s deep voice called.

“Yes, sir?” I turned quickly, drying my hands on my apron.

He gestured with a tilt of his head. “My office. Now.”

My heart picked up speed as I followed him through the corridor lined with framed awards and gleaming plaques.

When he finally spoke, his tone was calm but heavy. “You’ve done diligently well these past weeks. I see you putting in your best.”

I swallowed hard. “Thank you, sir.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “I also commend the way you conduct yourself. You don’t sulk in front of clients, and you always look neat. Keep that up.”

My lips curved into a small, proud smile. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes sharpened. “Today, I have a specific client arriving, although I've never seen her. When she comes, her order will go to you. You’ll prepare it, serve it, and ensure everything is perfect. Understand?”

Excitement burst through me. “Yes, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Good. You have one chance. Don’t waste it.”

I rushed to the kitchen. My first official solo task. My moment to prove myself.

The kitchen buzzed with the usual energy, and I blended in. As I scrubbed a bowl, someone tapped my back.

“Guess who?” a familiar voice sang.

I jumped. “Leanna!”

She laughed, her smile bright against her dark skin. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just taking a break from waiting tables. Thought I’d check on my favorite kitchen girl.”

I chuckled softly. “You and your surprises.”

“Mr. Steele giving you a hard time today?”

“Not exactly. He actually trusted me with a client’s order.”

Her eyes widened. “What? That’s huge! Good luck, girl.”

“Thanks,” I smiled.

She waved and slipped back through the swinging doors.

Leanna was one of the ladies from the fire circle who had welcomed me warmly. I didn't know much about her, and she didn't know much about me either, but we were slowly getting fond of each other.

Moments later, Dorian strode in. “Here’s the order, Miss Riya. You have thirty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

He placed a small card on the counter before turning away.

I glanced at it: Bolognese, lamb steak, Italian salad dressing, and orange juice. My hands trembled slightly. This wasn’t beginner work. Still, I exhaled and got to it.

I diced, stirred, and seared, letting everything I’d learned pour into each motion. The sauce simmered perfectly; the lamb browned to a delicate crust.

“Go, Riya!” one of the chefs cheered.

“Look at her swirl that sauce!” another laughed.

I smiled despite my nerves. Their voices gave me courage.

When the meal was finished, I plated it carefully, drizzling just the right touch of chopped coriander across the top. It looked beautiful, almost like art.

I covered the plate with the silver lid, bowed slightly toward my fellow cooks, and lifted the tray.

“Good luck, Riya!” someone shouted.

“She’s got this!”

The applause followed me out of the kitchen, lightening my steps.

As I reached the VIP lounge, I glanced again at the card. Miss Regina Hopkins. No table number. My chest tightened. How would I know which one was hers?

I scanned the room. Then I spotted a woman seated elegantly near the center. Expensive jewelry. Confident air. She looked like a “Regina.”

I approached her. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you Miss Regina?”

The woman looked up. “Yes, I am.”

Relief flooded me. “Your order, ma’am.” I set the dish before her with a polite smile without opening it. “Bon appétit.”

“Thank you,” she replied warmly.

Easy, I thought. Too easy.

I returned to the kitchen, my heart light. The chefs erupted in cheers as soon as they saw me.

“She’s going to love it!”

“First task done, Wintle!”

I laughed breathlessly, feeling just for a moment like I belonged.

Then a scream shattered the air. Every head snapped up.

“What was that?” someone whispered.

Another scream followed, louder this time. I rushed out, and so did every staff member.

Dorian burst from his office. “What happened?”

One of the waiters stammered, “It’s the VIP section, sir!”

I ran after him, along with the other staff.

The elegant woman I’d served stood by her table, fury blazing in her eyes. “This isn’t what I ordered!” she shouted. “What kind of restaurant is this?”

“Calm down, madam,” Dorian said smoothly, though his jaw tightened. “We’ll rectify it immediately.”

He turned. “Riya!”

I stepped forward, trembling. “Sir… sir, I served Miss Regina Hopkins. That’s her…”

Before I could finish, the woman cut in. “Hopkins? I’m Regina George! Not Hopkins. And I didn’t order this!”

My breath caught. “I… what?”

A tall, slender woman walked to us. “I'm Miss Regina Hopkins. I guess there must have been a misunderstanding because I've been waiting for my meal for close to an hour.”

The other woman’s face twisted in disgust. “I’m allergic to coriander! Do you want to kill me?”

Dorian’s head snapped toward me.

“I… I must’ve mixed…” I stammered.

He raised a hand. “Enough.”

The woman grabbed her bag, muttering under her breath. “This restaurant is a disgrace.” She stormed out.

“Madam, please…” I started to go after her, but Dorian’s voice stopped me cold.

“Riya!”

I turned slowly. He stood rigid, already very angry.

He seized my wrist, dragging me back toward the kitchen. The other staff followed at a distance.

Inside, he slammed his hand against the stainless-steel counter.

“One task,” he snarled. “One simple task, and you had to blow it.”

“I… sir, I didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t mean?” His voice rose. “Do you understand what you’ve just cost me?”

Tears stung my eyes. “I’m sorry…”

“Sorry doesn’t fix this!” he barked. “Did you even confirm her name?”

“Yes… no, sir, I… she said…”

“How dare you embarrass me in front of my clients!”

The kitchen went silent. Even the boiling pots seemed to hold their breath.

Then, before I could blink, his hand came down hard against my cheek.

Paaaw!

The sound cracked through the

room like lightning. My head snapped sideways; stars exploded behind my eyes. The floor tilted beneath me, spinning.

And that was it. The next thing I saw was darkness.