Chapter Eighteen

The heavy glass doors of the Axerold Estate main house slid shut with a soft hiss, instantly cutting off the suffocating 40°C heat and the noise of the power tools outside. The cool air conditioning hit Vanessa immediately, fresh and smelling of clean floor polish and wood.

Matt walked right behind her, carrying the big market tote into the kitchen and dropping it onto the marble counter with a heavy breath.

"Thanks again, Matt," Vanessa said, turning around and taking a small towel to wipe the sweat from her neck. "I know carrying market bags isn't part of your job."

Matt laughed, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "Call it site prep, Miss Axerold. Carrying that much meat and peppers in this sun is no joke."

Vanessa let out a laugh, shaking her head as she pulled a fresh navy apron out of her bag. "Site prep? You're turning my market run into construction work now?"

"Hey, it counts," Matt said with a grin. "Every project needs good site prep. If my crew collapses from hunger under this heat, those steel fence panels aren't going to fix themselves."

"Fair enough, contractor," Vanessa chuckled, tying the apron strings snugly behind her waist. "Just don't start charging me per kilo for carrying tomatoes."

"I'll put it on the invoice as heavy machinery transport," Matt teased.

Vanessa threw her head back and laughed—a rich, genuine laugh that vibrated through the high ceilings of the kitchen. "Heavy machinery transport! Don't you dare, Matt! My accountant will have a heart attack before he even reads the actual construction fees."

Standing there in her kitchen, surrounded by fresh peppers, meat, and vegetables spread across the marble counter, Vanessa took a deep breath.

It felt like old times—getting ready to cook a big meal. But as she washed her hands at the sink, the feeling was totally different.

For years in Apartment 301, standing in a kitchen had been a life sentence. Years of her life given away to a marriage where every single day was just Veronica complaining that the stew was too thin or Andrea demanding dinner the second he walked through the door without even looking at her face. She used to stand over a dirty stove in that tiny, windowless, boiling room, sweating and feeling like an unpaid servant in her own life.

Now, standing in her kitchen, nobody was forcing her. She bought what she wanted, cooked what she liked, and did it on her own time.

She turned on the high-end stove and set a heavy cast-iron pot over the flame. Beside her, Matt stepped up to the counter, grabbed a cutting board, and pulled a bowl of purple onions toward himself.

"What are you doing?" Vanessa asked, looking at him with an amused smile.

"Slicing onions," Matt said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Helping out."

Vanessa picked up a sharp chef’s knife from the block, stepping right next to him. "You're supposed to be building my fence, contractor, not chopping onions in my kitchen. Let me do the slicing—you'll end up crying from the fumes."

"I survived oil rigs, Miss Axerold, I think I can handle an onion," Matt chuckled, reaching for the handle of the knife at the exact same second she moved to adjust her grip.

His large, rough hand brushed squarely over hers.

The heat of his palm against her fingers sent a sudden, unspoken jolt through the quiet air between them. Vanessa froze for a fraction of a second, her breath hitching in her throat as she looked down at their joined hands on the polished steel handle.

Matt’s fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long—warm, steady, and protective—before he slowly eased his hand back, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a soft, magnetic intensity.

"Sorry," Matt murmured, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a quiet warmth that had nothing to do with the stove. "Didn't mean to crowd your space."

Vanessa looked up into his eyes, her heart giving a subtle, uncharacteristic flutter before she caught herself, smoothing her expression into an easy, playful smile. "It's fine, Matt. Just... watch where you put those heavy hands."

"Duly noted," Matt said softly, his eyes searching her face for a moment longer before he picked up a second knife from the block.

Watching him stand beside her, his broad shoulders easily filling the space, a memory from years ago flashed through Matt's mind. He had known her back in college—she was the stunning, brilliant, quiet girl who sat near the front of lecture halls, effortlessly poised and completely out of reach. Back then, he was just an ambitious engineering student who could only admire her from a distance.

When her call had come in out of nowhere asking him to manage the massive fortification project for the Axerold Estate, he had been genuinely stunned. He didn't know the full, ugly history of her t marriage and what went down with her ex-husband, but standing beside her now—feeling the magnetic pull between them—he was certainly making good use of working for her.

"Do you actually know how to cook," Vanessa asked, breaking the sudden tension with a light chuckle as she slid onions onto the board, "or are you just trying to look useful?"

Matt laughed, his knife moving with a steady rhythm against the wood. "Out on the oil rigs, if you can't cook for yourself, you eat cold tin food for months. So yeah, I can make a few things. My pepper soup will fix your head if you've got a cold."

Vanessa poured a ribbon of oil into the hot pot, listening to it warm up. "Impressed. Most men I've met won't even step near a stove. They just sit down and wait to be served like kings."

"Sounds like you've been around the wrong men," Matt said quietly, finishing up his pile and looking sideways at her profile. "Where I grew up, if you don't help make the food, you don't sit down to eat it. Simple as that."

Vanessa paused, her hand lingering on the edge of the stove. A quiet, dry smile crossed her face—soft and completely free of regret.

"I guess I have," she murmured softly, looking down at the clear flame. "Ten whole years of it, in fact. But mistakes have a funny way of teaching you what true value looks like."

"Oil's hot," Matt reminded her softly, stepping just a fraction closer, his shoulder almost brushing hers. "Ready?"

"Dump them in," Vanessa said, her voice clear, steady, and full of life.

The onions hit the oil with a loud, hot sizzle, filling the grand room with a rich, savory aroma. Side by side, they spent the next hour working in effortless rhythm over the stove. Matt chopped herbs and prepared serving trays while Vanessa seared prime cuts of beef, stirred the simmering rich gravy, and stepped away to steam market vegetables. Steam rose off the burners, carrying the mouthwatering scent through every corner of the house.

Before plating the food, Vanessa picked up a sleek, insulated thermal food container. With deliberate, graceful precision, she packed double portions of the steaming tender beef, rich savory gravy, and seasoned sides into the container, sealing the top tight before setting it carefully on the side counter.

Taking a step back, Matt looked over the massive spread across the marble counter, smelling the steam rising into the air. A wide, genuine smile broke across his face.

"The food is ready," Matt said, looking at her with genuine awe. "Honestly, Miss Axerold, this smells so good I think my crew is going to follow you anywhere you go."

Vanessa smiled calmly, wiping her hands on a cloth. "Get the men ready, Matt."

Matt stepped outside and called his crew into the shaded patio area. The workers, exhausted and drenched in sweat from the heat, filed in respectfully. Vanessa personally served generous portions onto their plates.

"Madam, this food is unbelievable!" one of the senior welders exclaimed, wiping his mouth in awe. "We usually eat cold bread on construction sites!"

"Best meal I've had in months, Miss Axerold," another worker chimed in with a wide grin. "Thank you so much!"

Vanessa smiled warmly at their genuine praise, waving a hand modestly. "You're all working hard out there in this heat to secure my home. The least I can do is make sure you're fed well. Eat as much as you want—there's plenty more inside."

She wiped her hands on a clean cloth as the men dug into the spread, then stepped away and headed upstairs.

Minutes later, she came back down, transformed. She had changed into a crisp, tailored designer outfit. She walked straight to the counter, picked up the insulated thermal bag she had carefully packed earlier, and gathered her structured leather handbag.

Matt, who was watching his men finish up, stepped toward the glass doors and looked at the container in her hand, then at her dressed-up appearance.

"Aren't you eating with us, Miss Axerold?" Matt asked, his voice softening with genuine curiosity and a trace of reluctance to see her leave.

Vanessa adjusted her dark sunglasses over her eyes, her lips curving into a calm, unreadable smile. "I have to do this first," she replied smoothly, picking up her car keys from the console. "I'm delivering food somewhere."

Matt frowned slightly, glancing out toward her high-powered SUV sitting in the sweltering driveway. "I can take you if you want."

Vanessa stopped, turning her head toward him with an appreciative but firm expression. "No, finish up. I need to do this alone."

Matt watched her silently. Looking at the thermal bag in her hand, the deliberate way she had set it aside earlier, and the sudden, razor-sharp shift in her demeanor, a quiet suspicion formed in his mind: She's taking food to her ex-husband.

He didn't ask a single question or push any further. He simply stepped aside, offering her a respectful nod as she glided past him toward the waiting executive SUV in the driveway.

Watching the sleek vehicle roll down the estate gates, Matt felt a deep, steady resolve take root inside him. She was a woman of immense strength, grace, and untold depth—a woman who had walked through years of fire and come out stronger. Whatever unresolved business she was going down that hill to settle, Matt made a silent promise to himself: he was going to stand by her, build a fortress around her world, earn her trust step by step, and eventually win her heart completely.

Down at the commercial junction below, the suffocating heat was baking Apartment 301 into an oven. And Vanessa was on her way down the hill.