A Taste of the Past

{Vanessa’s POV}

Life had a cruel sense of humor.

One week, I was folding dresses for women who would never remember my name, smiling politely while they complained about sizes and colors as if I were invisible. The next, I was standing at the gates of a mansion so big it made me feel like I had shrunk to the size of an ant.

The iron gates rose like something out of a fairy tale—or a nightmare. Beyond them stretched long manicured lawns, fountains that sparkled beneath the sun, and a house so wide and tall it looked like it had swallowed the sky.

I didn’t know who owned it. I didn’t care. All I knew was that the pay was more than any boutique could ever offer, and I needed it. My younger sister’s hospital bills weren’t waiting for me to figure out pride. My other sister’s school fees loomed over me like a shadow I couldn’t outrun. And then there was my father—crippled, bitter, surviving only because I made sure there was food on the table.

I couldn’t afford to turn down this opportunity.

The interview wasn’t an interview at all. The house manager—Mrs. Alder—a stout woman with sharp eyes that seemed to see through lies—asked me to cook on the spot. No introductions, no questions about my experience, just a pointed order.

“Put on an apron. Show me what you can do.”

My hands trembled as I tied the apron around my waist. The kitchen was a dream compared to the cramped stove I used at home. Marble counters gleamed like mirrors. Stainless-steel pans hung neatly in rows, polished to perfection, far too expensive to be touched by someone like me. For a second, I froze, afraid even to lift a pan.

But when I started cooking, something inside me steadied. The nerves melted into muscle memory, like slipping into a dance I had practiced all my life. Garlic hissed as it hit the buttered pan, filling the air with a rich, savory scent. Tomatoes simmered softly, their juices bubbling with fresh herbs. For a moment, I wasn’t in a stranger’s mansion—I was home again, in our tiny kitchen, stirring while my sisters laughed in the background.

I plated the dish with care, every motion deliberate, my chest tight as I slid the plate toward the manager. She tasted it, her stern face unreadable at first.

Then her eyes lit up. “Perfect,” she whispered to herself before clearing her throat. Louder, she said, “You’re hired.”

Relief washed through me so strongly I had to grip the counter to steady myself. My throat tightened. My eyes burned. I almost laughed, almost cried, almost collapsed. For a fleeting moment, I thought maybe—just maybe—fate was giving me a chance.

But fate never gave without taking.

The dining hall was enormous, the kind of place that belonged in glossy magazines. A chandelier glittered overhead, scattering golden light across the long mahogany table. I wasn’t allowed inside, but I could hear the faint laughter, the clink of silverware, the occasional hum of approval.

“They love it,” Mrs. Alder, the house manager told me, her eyes softer now. “Lady Sinclair is asking who prepared it.”

Lady Sinclair.

The name struck me like lightning. The only Lady Sinclair I had ever known was—

No. It couldn’t be.

But when Mrs. Alder added, “The young Miss Jade insists on meeting you,” my stomach dropped.

Jade. His little sister.

My breath caught. My knees nearly gave way. This wasn’t just a job. This was their house. His family.

Vincent’s family.

Panic clawed at my chest. “Please, I… I can’t meet them,” I stammered. “Tell them I had to step out. Tell them anything, but not my name.”

Mrs. Alder frowned, clearly irritated by my desperation, but after a moment she sighed. “Fine. But don’t run. You’ll lose the job, and you need this.”

She was right. I needed the job more than I needed peace. More than I needed pride.

But God, how cruel was fate to put me here?

For days, I kept my head down. I cooked. I moved like a ghost through the mansion, slipping in and out of the kitchen, timing my steps so I would never cross paths with them—especially him. I learned the servants’ passageways, the back stairs, every shadow I could hide in.

But fate has sharp teeth, and it bit again.

One evening, I was leaving the kitchen when I heard footsteps in the corridor. A deep voice. His voice. Vincent.

My chest seized. The tray in my hands shook so badly I almost dropped it. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out everything else.

Before disaster struck, Mrs. Alder appeared from the other side. She called his name sharply, pulling his attention away. I slipped into the servants’ passageway, clutching the tray like a shield, my palms clammy.

Too close. Much too close.

But the universe wasn’t finished with me.

It happened in the garden.

I had been sent out to gather herbs from the greenhouse. The twilight air was cool against my skin, carrying the faint scent of roses from the far corner. I was humming softly, trying to calm my nerves, when I heard a familiar voice call my name.

“Vanessa?”

I froze. Slowly, I turned.

Standing there, dressed in a chiffon gown that floated around her like mist in the fading light, was Diane. His cousin. My old friend.

For a heartbeat, she simply stared at me, her lips parting in shock. Then she rushed forward, her arms wrapping tightly around me, nearly knocking me back.

“God, it is you!” she exclaimed, pulling away to study me. “I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.”

She was radiant—grown, elegant, nothing like the playful girl I once knew. And me? I was suddenly, painfully aware of the plain clothes I wore, the apron still tied at my waist, the weariness in my eyes.

“I… I work here now,” I said softly, my voice almost breaking.

Her brows furrowed. “Here? As what?”

“A chef.” The word felt small.

Her mouth fell open. “Vanessa, do you know whose house this is?”

I looked away, swallowing hard. “I figured it out.”

Silence stretched between us. Then her expression softened, and she touched my hand gently. “You broke him, Vanessa. Do you know that? When you said no to him that day… it wasn’t just a rejection. It was the first time he had ever asked a girl out. And you… you crushed him.”

My throat tightened. Guilt, long buried, clawed its way back to the surface, raw and suffocating.

“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered. “I was… scared. I thought I had time. And then he left without saying goodbye. Do you know what that felt like for me?”

Her eyes widened.

I nodded quickly, tears burning my eyes. “I already saw him, Diane. At a boutique. He came in with some girl… and he looked me right in the face, like I was a stranger. He even kissed her cheek, right there, knowing I was watching. He wanted me to see it.”

Diane’s lips parted, sadness clouding her gaze. “That’s him now. Cold. Detached. He gives women everything but himself. He’s built walls so high no one can climb them. You think he didn’t recognize you? Vanessa… he did. That’s why he did all that.”

My knees weakened. My voice dropped to a whisper. “He hates me.”

“No.” Diane shook her head slowly. “He still feels you. That’s the problem.”

Her words sank into me, heavy and piercing. I felt tears prickling, but before they could fall, I grabbed her hand.

“Diane… please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Don’t tell him I’m here. Don’t tell his mother, not Jade, not anyone. I can’t… I can’t face him. Not yet. Promise me.”

She searched my face, her eyes conflicted, then finally nodded. “Alright. I won’t say a word. But Vanessa…” Her voice softened, carrying a warning. “…you can’t avoid him forever.”

I shook my head quickly, gripping her hands tighter, desperate. “Just don’t tell him. Please.”

She sighed, brushing her hair back with graceful ease, her expression torn. But her eyes softened. “Fine. Your secret is safe with me. For now.”

Her words lingered long after I returned to the kitchen, echoing like a warning I wasn’t ready to face.

And for the first time in years, I wondered if I had made a mistake too big to fix.

Her words cut deep. I felt the sting in my chest, each one a truth I had tried so hard to deny.