EDEN
I'm working in the kitchen when the evil little smile creeps back across my face.
The place smells like vanilla and powdered sugar. I'm perfecting the Swiss meringue for the final test run of the lavender-honey layer cake. The one that's going to be the signature piece for my boutique if I ever get the funding. The frosting is glossy, stiff peaks holding their shape when I lift the whisk. I swirl a finger through it, taste it, and hum in satisfaction.
Perfect.
I glance over at the tiny glass jar sitting innocently on the far corner of the counter.
Laxative powder. It's tasteless and odourless. So, I've heard.
My grin widens.
Earlier I gave Hayden a vague little response when he asked me about Dylan. Something about Dylan not actually knowing the culprit. But he just wanted to a
