"Alright, I’ll help you."
I pulled out a leather notebook and pen, flipped to a fresh page, and began writing—a detailed, ten-page list: medicinal recipes, herbal dosages, safe ingredients, cooking times, all adjusted to her weakened pulse and condition.
Liana blinked, stunned. “Will any of these hurt me—or the baby?”
“Not unless you’re allergic to something. Get an allergy test first to be safe.”
She took the notebook like it was gold. Smart woman. And smart women always know—nothing comes free.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Money? Or... something else?”
I smiled. God, I loved it when people didn’t waste time pretending.
“Keep quiet about my help. And” I paused, letting the tension build, “I want a spot on The People’s Talent. I know you’re one of the show’s main investors.”
Her
