Chapter 13 - THE SIXTIETH DISH SERVED
One month later.
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of my Chicago penthouse, casting golden light across the polished hardwood floors. The air smelled of fresh coffee and white lilies.
The apartment was quiet. No shouts down the hallway. No passive-aggressive comments about dinner reservations. No heavy deadbolts turning in dark pantry doors.
My phone chimed on the granite kitchen island. A text notification from Darcy:
[Darcy]: Plea deal finalized. Julian accepted 4 years at Cook County Department of Corrections. Fiona’s assets seized to pay back-taxes for your firm. You're officially a free woman, Sloan.
I set my phone down and walked over to the marble counter.
Sitting on a silver platter in the center of the kitchen was a small, elegant white box tied with a gold ribbon. Inside was a single, freshly baked French pastry I had picked up from a local bakery downtown.
One dish. Simple, quiet, and entirely mine.
I took a small bite, looking out over the blue expanse of Lake Michigan stretching out toward the horizon.
Fiona had demanded sixty dishes to honor her life, believing she could break me in the dark. She never realized that in forcing me into that dark kitchen, she had finally freed me to dismantle her son's entire empire of lies.
I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, took a deep breath of the quiet morning air, and smiled.
May you like
The feast was finally over—and freedom tasted better than anything I had ever made.
– THE END –
