Chapter 0156
Abby
The room is dead silent when Karl finishes telling his story. I’m in utter shock, and I think he is, too. In a
way, now that I think of it, it all makes sense. And yet, all these years, neither of us ever saw iting.
“So your butler…” I pause, swallowing. “Conspired with your secretary to sow discord between us?”
Karl nods quietly. “It appears so,” he murmurs.
In a way, I feel a sense of understanding wash over me. And yet, it doesn’tpletely absolve Karl of
his sins. No matter how much Gianna sunk her ws in over the years, he still did what he did by
giving those rare ingredients to Adam. And for that, I still don’t know if I can ever forgive him.
As though reading my mind, Karl’s eyes lock onto mine, and there’s an intensity in them that I haven’t
seen in years. His gaze is heavy, but it’s alsopletely genuine.
“I know that I never should have gone against you, Abby. I’ve messed up, and I’m sorry,” he says
quietly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll allow me.”
My chest feels like it''s been hollowed out, reced with a cavern of disbelief and mistrust. Could this
really be the man who turned my life upside down?
“Sorry?” I find myself hissing. “You really think a simple apology can make this right? Regardless of
what Gianna and Gerald did, you still gave my ex rare ingredients behind my back to make him leave
me, Karl. That can’t be forgiven.”
His jaw tightens. “No,” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know that there’s no way I
can undo the past, but I can try to make the future better. For you, and for your career.”
A part of me, a part I don’t want to acknowledge, wants to believe him. But the other part, the part that
remembers every night I spent alone, every tear shed in solitude, screams at me to keep my guard up.
“You’ve made a mess, Karl,” I say, controlling the tremor in my voice. “A mess that you expect me to
clean up. What about Adam? What about your scheming secretary and butler? You think just because
you’ve fired them, everything’s just going to be okay?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to clean up my mess. But I’d like the chance to
help. To be part of the solution, not the problem.”
I scrutinize him, looking for the lie, the deceit, but all I see is a man broken by his own decisions, a man
yearning for redemption. I sigh. What’s the harm in letting him help at the restaurant, especially with the
cook-offing up? As long as I keep my distance, right?
“Fine,” I relent, each word heavy with the gravity of my decision. “You can return to the restaurant. But
only until the cook-off is over, because I need the extra help around here. And I’ll be keeping my
distance.”
His face softens, as if I’ve just thrown him a lifeline. “And the Alpha party?”
I scoff. “You really think I’d still go with you if I even had the chance?”
Karl pauses, and I can see a host of emotions sh through his eyes. Hope, dismay, hurt. Finally, he
seems to settle on eptance. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
“Good,” I say, turning away to hide theplicated swirl of emotions threatening to spill over. “And
Karl?”
“Yes?” he asks, a glimmer of hope lighting up his eyes.
“Don''t make me regret this.”
Karl nods, his eyes searching mine as if he could find the solution to all his mistakes there. “Thank you,
Abby,” he murmurs. “I won’t let you down. Not this time. Not ever.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. With ast lingering nce, he walks away, leaving me alone with
my thoughts.
…
It’s been two days since I told Karl he could return to the restaurant. I’m still digesting the weight of my
decision to let Karl back into my life yet again—albeit at a distance.
This might just be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and honestly, I’m mostly concerned about how I’ll
break the news to Chloe when I see her next. No doubt she’ll be furious with me, and there could even
be a physical altercation between her and Karl. I can still barely convince myself that I’m making the
right decision here, so how can I convince her?
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Suddenly, the restaurant door chimes, signaling the arrival of a guest. The sound snaps me out of my
train of thought. A nce up from the host stand reveals Mr. Thompson, the manager of the cook-off,
shuffling his way in.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Thompson,” I greet, trying to mask the turmoil of emotions bubbling beneath my calm
exterior. “What brings you here?”
He smiles, his eyes filled with an ufortable blend of apology and professionalism. “I hope I''m not
interrupting anything, Abby. May I speak with you?”
I nod, gesturing for him to follow me. Once we’re in my office, I let him take the chair opposite mine. Mr.
Thompson sits down, exhaling as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Unfortunately, there’s been ast-minute change to the cook-off,” he starts, his words measured, but
edged with regret.
I feel my heart sink as all of the worst possibilities sh through my mind. “Mr. Thompson, am I…”
He chuckles. “No, no, you’re still in thepetition,” he says, shaking his head. “Sorry; I should have
led with that, shouldn’t I?”
Relief washes over me. “Thank goodness,” Iugh, leaning back in my chair. “What is it, then?”
Mr. Thompson pauses for a moment before speaking. “An additional dish has been added to the list.
And it involves the use of extremely rare, exceedingly expensive truffles. One of the most expensive
truffles in the world, believe it or not.”
As he speaks, he pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to me. It’s a photo of a dish that I’ve never
seen before, with a name at the bottom: farro mafaldine with ck truffle butter and mushrooms.
A tight knot forms in my stomach. ck truffles are indeed some of the most expensive, and rarest, in
the world. My restaurant is sessful, but it’s not a cash fountain, and these mushrooms have a short
season for harvesting. How am I supposed to practice with ingredients that would not only be too
expensive to purchase at this time of year, but are also exceedingly rare?
He must sense my concern because he hurriedly adds, “And thepetition will not be providing these
truffles for practice, I’m afraid. I understand that this is far from ideal, but it’s a situation that’s out of my
hands.”
I force a smile, the implications of what he’s saying spinning my mind into overdrive. “Well, thank you
for letting me know, Mr. Thompson. I appreciate your honesty.”
He nods, rising from his chair. “I wish I had better news, Abby. Truly, I do.”
As he walks out, I sink back into my chair, staring at the vacant space that he’s left behind. My mind
races through options, calctions, and desperate ideas.
How can I prepare a dish I’ve never made before with ingredients I can’t afford?