Chapter 1 - The Kitchen ExileFor Thanksgiving, my father invited the whole family over, yet my mother made me stay confined to the kitchen to cook while everyone else enjoyed the celebration. A couple of hours later, a man dressed in a black suit strolled in, pressed a kiss to my hand, and stated, “Sorry, darling, I was late.” My entire family froze in pure disbelief...
My father, Thomas Bennett, hosted our whole family for Thanksgiving dinner, acting as if we were the sort of relatives who exchanged genuine, warm smiles around a holiday table.
We absolutely were not.
By five o'clock that afternoon, my parents’ dining room in Greenwich, Connecticut, was illuminated by candles, sparkling crystal, and the rich aroma of roasted turkey.
My older sister, Natalie, showed up in a pristine cream cashmere dress alongside her husband and two kids. My brother, Ryan, strolled in with a loud laugh, already clutching a bottle of premium bourbon. Aunts, uncles, and various cousins soon filled the residence with loud chatter.
Meanwhile, I, Claire Bennett, sat completely isolated in the kitchen.
My mother, Margaret, had gestured toward an apron hanging on the pantry door and ordered, “You know your way around the kitchen better than anyone. Do not embarrass us by sitting out here looking miserable. Cook, serve the food, and stay useful.”
Useful.
That was the only label I had known since I turned eighteen—the year fifty thousand dollars inexplicably vanished from my father's business. My mother forced me to take the fall to preserve Ryan's flawless reputation, draining my entire college fund to cover up his dark secrets.
Natalie was crowned “the beautiful one.” Ryan was dubbed “the heir.” I became the disgraced offspring who worked two exhausting jobs, contributed to their bills, and still ended up seated next to the trash cans during family gatherings.
So I cooked. I basted the holiday turkey. I constantly stirred the gravy. I carried heavy plates into the dining room as my mother proudly introduced Natalie’s children as “the absolute pride of the family.”
Not a single person asked why I was not seated at the table with them. Not a single person bothered to ask if I had eaten anything.
Two hours dragged by. I was scrubbing a heavy pan when the front doorbell suddenly rang. The lively dining room fell completely silent. A few moments later, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Then, a man clad in a sharp black suit materialized at the kitchen entrance.
He was tall, possessing dark hair, piercing calm eyes, and the sort of commanding presence that intuitively made people lower their voices. His overcoat was slightly damp from the chilly November rain. He completely ignored everyone else and marched straight over to me.
Before I could utter a single word, he tenderly took my wet, soapy hand, raised it, and kissed my knuckles.
“Sorry, darling,” he murmured in a deep, steady tone. “I was late.”
Every single fork in the dining room paused mid-air. Natalie was the first to stand up. Ryan’s jaw dropped wide open. All the color drained entirely from my mother’s face.
Because the man currently standing inside my parents’ kitchen was not just some random guest. He was Julian Mercer, the billionaire CEO of Mercer Holdings—the exact same man my father had been desperately begging for a bailout contract to rescue our collapsing company.
And he had just referred to me as darling.
My father slowly lifted himself from his chair. “Claire... do you... know Mr. Mercer?”
May you like
Julian glanced at me, and then his gaze shifted to the stained apron tied securely around my waist. His expression grew stony. He casually reached inside his tailored jacket, his hand deliberately resting near the fifty-million-dollar acquisition paperwork my father was so frantic to secure.
“She is my fiancée,” Julian declared, his voice ringing clearly through the dead-silent space. “And I would very much like to know why she is serving this dinner instead of eating it.”
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