Chapter 28: The Perfectly Laid Trap

The morning sunlight spilled across Luca’s penthouse kitchen, catching on the gleam of polished copper pans and the deep red of fresh tomatoes on the counter. Arianna leaned against the island, her coffee cup cradled between her palms, her brow furrowed in thought.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” she asked, watching Luca pace the floor like a wolf about to pounce.

I’ve never been surer,” Luca replied, his dark eyes hard with determination. “If Isabella thinks she can destroy what we’ve built—our business, our relationship she’s in for a surprise.”

Amara, who was perched on a bar stool, lifted an eyebrow. “You’re talking like we’re in a spy movie. Please tell me this plan doesn’t involve actual explosives.”

Luca smirked. “No bombs. Just brains. And maybe a hidden camera or two.”

Arianna set her cup down. “Okay. Walk me through it again.”

Luca’s plan was deceptively simple: they would invite Isabella to an exclusive “tasting” for a new cooking class series. The bait would be too tempting for her to refuse especially when she’d hear whispers that the menu included a recipe Arianna had been keeping secret for months. The real trick? A hidden recording setup in the kitchen, ready to catch Isabella in the act of tampering, stealing, or sabotaging.

“She won’t be able to resist,” Luca said. “She thrives on the thrill of one-upping people. We just have to give her the perfect stage.”

“And I’ll be backstage, monitoring the feeds,” Amara added, her eyes flashing with excitement. “If she so much as breathes on the béarnaise, I’ll have it on video.”

Arianna hesitated. “What if she doesn’t take the bait?”

“She will,” Luca said with the kind of confidence that came from years of dealing with predators in business and in the kitchen. “People like Isabella can’t ignore an opportunity to strike. It’s in her nature.”

The tasting was set for the following evening.

The cooking school’s main demonstration kitchen gleamed under the bright lights, every counter spotless, every ingredient arranged like a work of art. Guests were “invited” — though in truth, most were friends and trusted partners who had been tipped off about the plan.

When Isabella swept in, wearing an icy blue designer dress and that trademark predatory smile, Arianna felt her chest tighten. She looked like trouble dressed in couture.

“Arianna,” Isabella purred, air-kissing her cheek. “I’ve heard whispers about your… new recipe. I simply had to see it for myself.”

“Of course,” Arianna said sweetly, masking the satisfaction bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “I’m glad you could join us.”

As the cooking demo began, Luca played the charming host while Arianna walked guests through the steps of her signature sauce. Amara, hidden in the adjoining office, kept her eyes locked on the monitor feeds.

And then it happened.

When Arianna stepped away to “take a call,” Isabella slid behind the counter, her eyes darting toward the covered dish of truffle butter. She glanced around—then slipped a small vial from her clutch and tipped it into the mix.

“Gotcha,” Amara whispered into her headset.

Luca returned just in time to see Isabella wipe her hands and step back, pretending nothing had happened.

Arianna reentered, smiling warmly, as though she hadn’t just caught the villain in their little play. “Isabella,” she said, “why don’t you help me with the final stir? It would be an honor to have your touch on this dish.”

The cameras caught everything—her, the sauce, the sabotage.

The trap had been sprung.