Hearth & Home

{Vincent’s POV}

I couldn’t get her out of my head. Every meeting, every contract, every glass of scotch reminded me of what I had destroyed.

It had been one thing to leave her years ago. But to see her again, thriving, beautiful, unstoppable… it felt like punishment for every selfish decision I had ever made.

I tried to reach her, again and again, but every attempt fell into silence. She shut me out completely. And Diane—my cousin, the only one who knew where she was—chose to keep her secret, afraid I’d only break her heart all over again.

I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her the truth—that I had learned it was all a setup, that Lisa and my mother had orchestrated her downfall—but I was too scared. Too proud. Too ashamed.

I watched her from afar, studying her every move on social media, in interviews, in the press. The girl I had loved was no longer a girl. She was a force of nature. And I feared that my presence would only shatter her once more.

But before I could face her, I had to face the one who had broken us in the first place—Lady Sinclair — my mother.

Morning light slipped weakly through the heavy curtains in my mother’s room. I pushed the door open without knocking, my heart thudding hard in my chest. She sat at her dressing table, running the brush through her hair in slow, steady strokes, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

“Mother,” I said, my voice low but firm. “We need to talk.”

She glanced at me in the mirror, calm as ever, her lips curling into that faint, manipulative smile.

“Vincent. You look tired. Another sleepless night?”

“Don’t play games with me,” I snapped, stepping further inside. “I know what you did. You and Lisa.”

Her hand stilled on the brush. For a heartbeat, the silence was louder than thunder. Then she set the brush down gently, as if nothing I had said surprised her.

“So Mrs. Alder finally grew a conscience,” she said, her tone light, almost. “I wondered how long it would take before someone whispered in your ear.”

My fists clenched. “You drugged her, staged that—” My voice cracked with fury. “And you let me believe she betrayed me!”

Mother turned on the chair, facing me fully now, her eyes sharp as glass. “Vincent, calm yourself. Vanessa was never right for you. She was a distraction, nothing more. The only important thing now is building the right alliance for our empire. And Lisa Westin is that alliance.”

“Alliance?” I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “And it has to come at the cost of my heart?”

“You’re too sentimental,” she said coldly. “Do you think love builds empires? No. Power does. Influence does. Lisa leads us to her father — the chairman of Westin Group. His name alone could open doors for us that Vanessa could never dream of unlocking.”

“Vanessa gave me her heart!” I shot back, my chest heaving. “And I cast her aside because of your schemes!”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Love is fleeting, Vincent. Empires last. One day you’ll thank me for this.”

“Thank you?” My laugh came out bitter, broken. I shook my head slowly. “No, Mother. One day, you’ll answer for this. Every lie. Every betrayal.”

For the first time, her composure slipped — just slightly. Her eyes narrowed, and the corners of her mouth twitched. But she quickly masked it, lifting her chin in defiance.

“You think you’re ready to fight me, son? Then you’d better be prepared to sacrifice more than just a girl.”

I turned toward the door, my jaw tight with rage. “I already sacrificed the only woman I’ll ever love. And that blood is on your hands.”

The door slammed behind me, but her words — cold, ruthless, unyielding — echoed in my skull long after I left.

{Vanessa’s POV}

Winning that competition had changed everything.

For years, I carried the weight of my family’s struggles on my back—bills unpaid, dreams deferred, nights where hope felt like a fragile thread. But when I won… when my name was called, when the prize money and recognition were placed into my hands, it was as if the world cracked open to let me breathe.

When I left the mansion behind, I also left behind every piece of myself that had once believed in fairy tales.

I started small, but not empty-handed. After winning the competition, I came to this new city with my father and sisters, determined to start over. I didn’t want glamour or a palace of glass and steel; I wanted something real. So I chose a little corner space on a busy street, the kind of place people passed every day on their way to work.

The walls were freshly painted in warm earth tones, the kind that wrapped you in comfort the moment you stepped inside. Wooden shelves held jars of spices, handwritten notes, and framed pictures of my happiest memories in the kitchen. Soft lights hung overhead, casting a glow that made the space feel less like a restaurant and more like a home.

And the kitchen… the kitchen was alive. It was my heartbeat, my sanctuary. Every dish I made carried a piece of me — my grief, my healing, my quiet prayers.

At first, the days were slow. A curious passerby here, a father and daughter sharing lunch there. Sometimes a college student who ordered the cheapest thing on the menu but stayed for hours just to study in the warmth of the room.

But the competition had given me more than just prize money. It had given me a voice. People whispered my name with curiosity, with excitement — the girl who beat the odds, the chef who cooked her way into history. And slowly, they came to see for themselves.

And when they did, they stayed.

Word spread. Not just about the food, but about the feeling. Hearth & Home became more than a restaurant — it became a haven. Families laughed over plates that tasted like comfort. Couples leaned closer across tables, sharing bites and secrets. Workers lingered long after their meals, unwilling to leave the peace they found inside.

Soon the tables were never empty. The waiting lines stretched down the block, spilling into the street. People didn’t just come to eat — they came to belong.

And as I stood in that kitchen, listening to the hum of voices, the clatter of plates, the laughter that filled every corner, I realized something: I hadn’t just built a restaurant.

I had built a new life

Then came the interviews, the magazine features, the partnership and the opportunities to cook on shows I had once only watched from afar. For the first time in years, I felt free. Dad, though in his wheelchair, was relieved. My younger sisters’ medical bills were finally paid. Opportunities that had once seemed impossible were now within their reach. The crushing weight of survival had lifted, replaced by the quiet strength of independence.

Love? I told myself I didn’t need it. I had no room for heartbreak. My family and my dream were enough.

And yet, in the quiet hours, when the restaurant was empty and the city outside had gone silent, I sometimes remembered him. Vincent.

But I had a life to run, responsibilities that mattered. Bills to pay, staff who depended on me, a family who looked at me like I was their anchor. I didn’t need him.

At least, that’s what I told myself.