The soft golden morning light poured into the sprawling marble kitchen of the Blackwood mansion, glinting off the polished counters and high-end appliances. Melissa stepped in quietly, her hair pulled into a soft bun, still a little disoriented from the previous night’s storm of chaos. She had come to prepare Alec’s lunch—something she had recently started doing, more out of silent duty than affection. But what greeted her eyes left her momentarily stunned.
Kris.
Standing amidst a dozen chefs, sleeves rolled up, a floral apron tied neatly around her waist, and a wide, contented smile lighting her face. The kitchen buzzed around her—chopping, stirring, blending—but Kris stood out like the glowing center of warmth.
The rich aroma of something sweet and buttery filled the space, comforting
