The kitchen felt like the inside of a dragon's mouth—hot, smoky, and full of people I'd like to stab. Every burner blazed, every pot hissed, and every scent of perfectly seasoned food rose like I actually enjoyed being their little household slave. I flipped the trout exactly when it needed flipping, spooned the sauce with precision that would make a five‑star chef weep, and plated the vegetables in neat rows. Naturally, not a soul appreciated any of it. "Try not to burn it this time," Father hissed over my shoulder. "Yes, sir," I murmured, stirring the pan like I wasn't fantasizing about hitting him with it. "And make sure the meat isn't overcooked," Kori's mom added, nose wrinkling like she smelled something foul. "Not that I expect you to understand what that even means. I've seen how useless you can actually be." I didn't even blink. My act was flawless: blank eyes, meek posture, shoulders slightly hunched—my "incompetent little attic gremlin" persona. The thing about pretend
Last Updated : 2025-11-20 Read more