Chapter 3 - THE SECOND BOWL
Norah returned to the estate the following evening because she couldn't afford not to.
She expected to be questioned.
Possibly fired.
Instead, she found a new apron hanging beside the kitchen entrance.
Her name was embroidered across the chest.
NORAH
Beside it was a note.
Please prepare the same broth as last night. Ingredients provided. — E
Norah stared at the note.
Then looked at the counter.
Fresh chicken.
Rice.
Onions.
Garlic.
Carrots.
Everything she needed.
She touched the apron.
It was clean.
Soft.
And far nicer than anything she owned.
For a moment, she wanted to cry.
Then she remembered the photograph.
She checked the hallway.
Empty.
She began cooking.
This time, she used fresh ingredients and followed the same simple method her mother had taught her.
No elaborate garnish.
No expensive sauce.
Just warmth.
When the broth was ready, Enzo appeared.
“Smells good.”
Norah looked at him.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why does Mr. Rossy trust me?”
Enzo frowned.
“He doesn't.”
She stared.
Enzo smiled faintly.
“He doesn't trust anyone.”
Norah looked toward the stove.
“Then why am I here?”
“Because last night, he ate.”
She nodded.
That was an answer.
Not a comforting one.
But an answer.
Upstairs, Vincent waited.
When Enzo placed the bowl in front of him, Vincent's hands began trembling.
The fear returned.
What if the first meal had been a coincidence?
What if the nausea came back?
What if this bowl was different?
He stared at the broth.
Then remembered Norah's voice.
I can't guarantee you'll be able to eat it again.
No promises.
No pressure.
Just food.
He took a spoonful.
Waited.
Then another.
The nausea remained manageable.
He finished half the bowl.
Not all of it.
But enough.
Dr. Sloane had told him not to force himself.
He set down the spoon.
Enzo smiled.
“Progress.”
Vincent looked at him.
“Don't celebrate yet.”
But there was less bitterness in his voice.
Downstairs, Norah was washing the saucepan when a guard entered.
“Boss wants to see you.”
Her stomach dropped.
Again.
She followed him upstairs.
Vincent stood beside the study window.
“You cooked tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Norah blinked.
“You already thanked me yesterday.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then Vincent turned.
“Someone sent you a threatening message.”
Norah froze.
He continued.
“I've seen the photograph.”
Her face went pale.
“Did you have my phone checked?”
“No. Security found the same image circulating through an internal messaging account.”
She stared.
Vincent's expression darkened.
“Someone inside this house is involved.”
Norah swallowed.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For bringing trouble here.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Miss Bennett, trouble lived here long before you arrived.”
She almost smiled.
Then her phone vibrated.
Another message.
TELL ROSSY NOTHING.
Norah stared at the screen.
Vincent noticed.
“What is it?”
She hesitated.
Then turned the phone toward him.
He read the message.
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Recognition.
“Who is threatening you?”
Norah swallowed.
“A loan shark.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“Name?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know his real name.”
“What does he call himself?”
Norah looked down.
Then whispered:
May you like
“The Collector.”
Vincent went completely still.
