CHAPTER TEN

Lauren woke up to the smell of food.

She stirred beneath the duvet, momentarily forgetting where she was.

The sheets still held the warmth of another body, but the space beside her was empty now.

A soft aroma drifted up the staircase—eggs, maybe… something buttery and warm.

Her stomach fluttered with hunger, but more than that, curiosity.

She slipped out of bed, wrapping herself in the oversized robe hanging from the door, and padded barefoot down the hallway.

As she descended the stairs, the scent grew stronger—eggs, toast, and something distinctly peppery.

Ethan was in the kitchen, standing over the stove in grey joggers and a plain black T-shirt, barefoot, hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it all morning.

He didn’t notice her at first.

He was plating scrambled eggs—soft, creamy, perfectly golden—next to two slices of buttered sourdough toast, crisp turkey bacon, and a small pile of rosemary-dusted breakfast potatoes.

There were also fresh strawberries cut into hearts in a glass bowl beside the plate.

A mug of steaming coffee sat waiting on the counter. She noticed the second plate warming on the stovetop.

She said nothing, just watched him move—fluid and precise—as he plated the final touches and slid a dish toward her spot at the counter.

His kitchen was as pristine and oversized as she remembered the night they made love three months ago, the kind of space designed for entertaining, yet it felt quiet… intimate.

Lauren sat down silently, the heat from the plate warming her fingertips.

Fluffy scrambled eggs, golden and soft, lay beside crisped turkey bacon and her favorite herb potatoes.

Strawberries glistened in a glass bowl nearby, arranged like rose petals.

Ethan sat across from her but didn’t lift his fork.

Instead, he watched her—calm, still, as if memorizing her expression.

She took a bite of the eggs. They were perfect. They always were.

Ethan had always been the better cook—long before she had even known how to boil rice.

It was Granny Rosa and Ethan who’d first taught her how to hold a knife properly, how to taste with instinct, how to cook like it meant something.

Her first omelet had been a mess, but he’d eaten it like it was a Michelin-star dish.

She tried to push those memories back where they belonged—buried, sealed behind the door she had locked the day he died.

Because she wasn’t here to relive the past. She wasn’t here to taste comfort in his food or warmth in his eyes.

She was here to get her revenge.

To end the madness Madeline Carter had started.

And to divorce him.

No matter how tender the eggs were… or how familiar the smell of rosemary is on potatoes.

He finally lifted his fork and began to eat—quietly.

She broke the silence, her eyes still on her food.

“Did you look for me after you regained your memory?”

Ethan chuckled lightly, but there was no humor in it. “If I didn’t look for you, Lauren, why am I here with you?”

She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. “Who really are you, Ethan?”

He rolled his eyes and took another bite. “I’m Ethan Whitmore.”

She cleared her throat. “So… you found your father. And now he’s the famous businessman, Raymond Whitmore.”

He nodded, smirking faintly. “Sounds good, huh?”

Her voice trembled slightly. “So, you no longer work with Bristols in L.A.?”

Ethan blinked. “What on earth are you talking about?”

She stared at him quietly. Bristols. The company where Ethan worked as an accountant before the explosion.

Him working in Bristols while she was nursing old people in Grace Home in Los Angeles was a big deal as at then.

It was big achievement especially working in Bristols.

They had survived on that income. It wasn’t much, but back then, she was the happiest woman alive.

He had told her they’d wait until the end of their honeymoon to start trying for a baby. But just when they were planning for that future, she got the call—Ethan was dead.

That morning, she had been cleaning the house with her best friend, Amy. It was the weekend.

Ethan had left for work, looking troubled. She remembered asking what was wrong, and he’d told her:

“I’ll explain when I get home.”

But he never came home.

The grief had been unbearable. Her memories of Ethan had clung to every corner of the house. In a desperate attempt to move on, she had sold everything they owned in Europe and left Los Angeles behind to start over in Beverly Hills.

But the pain hadn’t left.

They had made so many memories together.

She had lost her parents on her eleventh birthday—a snowy afternoon that turned tragic.

Mr and Mrs Lancaster had gone out to buy her a birthday present despite the storm. Their car had slammed into a truck on an icy road. They never made it home.

For sixteen years, Lauren never celebrated her birthday.

It was the day after Granny Rosa’s, but neither of them ever marked the date. That day always reminded her: they died because of me.

Then Ethan came.

He gave her a new birthday which they always celebrated. It was five months after her real birthday.

He and his foster parents—Uncle Jerome and Aunt Teresa—had moved in next door. Granny Rosa took to them quickly, and despite their mourning, Ethan had somehow lit a candle in their darkness.

He was eighteen then, but looked sixteen. That had always slowed his education. He didn’t grow as fast as his peers until he turned twenty, sprouted taller, though still looked like a lanky teenager.

But his smile…

It was full of hope. Full of love.

He had been the first man she ever kissed, the first to touch her, the one who took her virginity on the night of her high school graduation.

She had been nineteen. He was twenty-four and had come all the way from Harvard to their little neighborhood in Los Angeles.

He was her first love.

And now, he was sitting across from her like a stranger.

There were tears in her eyes. She looked up and caught him watching her. She smiled faintly, blinking fast.

“Why are you staring like that?” she asked awkwardly.

Ethan didn’t smile. “Nothing. Just… the fact that you had the mind to walk away from me after everything we’ve been through.” His voice grew quiet. “I taught you how to kiss when you didn’t know how. I taught you how to open your heart to the light again… but now you think anyone can love you like I did? Not even Caleb Monroe.”

He stood and walked out of the kitchen, leaving his plate behind.

Lauren let the tears fall freely this time.

Why didn’t I try to find out if he was alive?

Why was I so quick to erase him? To sell off everything we built together?

Her phone rang. She wiped her cheeks quickly. Caleb.

He hadn’t called since she arrived yesterday.

She answered. “Hello, Caleb…”

“I was expecting your call,” his voice came smoothly. “Don’t tell me you’re already forgetting me—even after one day?”

“No, Caleb. I was just… adjusting to the new environment. How are you doing?”

“Not good, of course. Has Ethan fed you this morning?”

She hesitated. “Yes, Caleb. But I promise I’ll come back to you soon. Just… wait for me, okay?”

There was a pause. Then: “I trust you, Lauren.”

***

Raymond Whitmore glared as Ethan walked into his mansion.

“I heard you took that slut back. Don’t you have any self-respect?”

Ethan stopped in his tracks, eyes darkening. “This will be the last time you call her anything other than her name. Her name is Lauren Whitmore”

Raymond barked, “How dare you! You even sabotaged one of our biggest investors—Madeline Carter! I was planning a long-term alliance with Carter Airlines, but you ruined everything for the sake of your emotions!”

Ethan didn’t flinch. “Were you really counting on Madeline? Or are you just scared I’m doing better without your input?”

Raymond scowled. “ 3% of our profit margin dropped after she pulled out!”

Ethan leaned in, whispered something in his father’s ear.

Raymond froze.

His eyes widened. “Wait… You had all that planned out?”

Ethan stepped back and grinned. “I always do.”

***

The important leaders of Black spire sat around a big glass table. The sun shone through the windows, lighting up the room.

Raymond Whitmore sat at the head of the table. Ethan was next to him, calm and ready to speak.

“Thanks for coming on short notice,” Ethan said. “We need to talk about the West Coast logistics project.”

The board members looked curious.

“This project was supposed to be shared fairly,” Ethan said. “But Monroe’s company got full control in a way that made us worry.”

One leader asked, “What do you mean?”

“Nothing illegal is clear yet,” Ethan said. “But some contracts changed suddenly, and payments don’t match the project budget.”

Raymond added, “On paper, it looks okay. But we found secret payments used to get favors and push others out, including us.”

The leaders whispered quietly.

Ethan showed a screen with proof of these secret payments.

“We expected this,” Ethan said. “We let Monroe do this so we could get proof.”

He smiled. “While Monroe’s team was busy doing this, Blackspire worked on a connected project and made good money.”

Raymond said, “We took a risk, and it worked. We turned Monroe’s mistake into our win.”

The chairman said, “We should start a full check on this. We must protect the Black spire.”

Everyone agreed quietly.

Ethan looked at his father, who smiled back. They had the advantage now.

The big Geneva Link project is still a year away, but this shows Black spire is already winning.

***

Caleb lounged in a leather armchair, swirling a glass of whiskey.

The city lights of Beverly Hills twinkled through the tall windows behind him. His smile was confident, but his mind raced beneath the surface.

Jonathan Monroe, his father, paced slowly across the room, hands clasped behind his back.

“So,” Jonathan said finally, voice low but sharp, “do you think no one will notice? That the way you took control of that project won’t raise suspicion?”

Caleb set down his glass carefully, meeting his father’s gaze. “We covered our tracks well. Everything looks clean.”

Jonathan stopped, studying his son. “You’re sure? Because if Black spire finds out, this could be used against us.”

Caleb’s jaw tightened for a moment, but he didn’t show the fear he felt. “They won’t. Not this time.”

Jonathan nodded slowly. “Good. But I hear they earned profits from a linked project. Despite everything.”

Caleb frowned, confused. “What? How? That wasn’t supposed to happen. That project was meant to favor us—and Novacorp only.”

“Exactly,” Jonathan said, leaning closer. “Makes you wonder… was this a bait? A trap?”

Caleb’s mind churned. If it wasn’t a trap, then why had Blackspire profited when it should’ve been blocked?

His phone rang. It was his secretary. "Miss Jones?".

"Mr Monroe, we are in trouble".