Siaara's pulse pounded in her ears as she watched the man disappear into the kitchen, as if he belonged there.
Her grip on the counter tightened. Who was he?
The café had strict rules. No outsider was allowed in the kitchen without permission, especially not some stranger who walked in unannounced.
She glanced around, expecting someone—anyone—to react.
But no one did.
The regulars continued their conversations, unaware of the unease crawling under her skin. Even Marco, the head chef, barely looked up as the man passed by.
This isn't normal.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to move. Her steps were hesitant as she made her way toward the kitchen, her mind racing.
As soon as she pushed open the door, the familiar warmth of simmering sauces and freshly baked bread hit her.
The kitchen was bustling with activity—chefs plating dishes, waiters calling out orders—but her focus remained locked on one person.
Him.
He stood near the prep station, sleeves rolled up, hands moving with practiced ease as he chopped fresh basil. As if he had been doing this for years.
Too smooth. Too practiced.
Siaara's stomach twisted.
How did he get here so fast? More importantly—why was no one questioning him?
She took a cautious step forward. "Excuse me," her voice came out sharper than intended. "Who are you?"
The man didn't pause. He continued slicing, his movements precise, effortless. Then, finally, he glanced up—storm-gray eyes meeting hers.
"Leon," he said simply.
Leon.
The name rolled off his tongue too easily, too smoothly—like a well-rehearsed lie.
Siaara crossed her arms. "And what exactly are you doing in my kitchen?"
A slow smirk played on his lips. "Your kitchen?"
She stiffened.
He set down the knife and wiped his hands on a towel, his gaze never leaving hers. "Funny. Because as far as I know... I work here."
Her breath hitched.
"What?"
Before she could demand an explanation, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Ah, Siaara!" Marco called out, striding toward them. His face was lit up with something that looked suspiciously like relief.
"Meet our new sous-chef. Just arrived today."
Siaara felt her world tilt.
Sous-chef?
Marco clapped Leon on the shoulder. "This guy's impressive. The boss hired him personally."
Her heart pounded. The boss?
Mr. Romano never made hires without consulting her first. And yet, somehow, this man had walked in as if he owned the place.
Leon's smirk deepened, as if he could hear every frantic thought running through her head.
A chill ran down her spine. Something felt off. And she intended to find out exactly what it was.
"Why did the boss hire Leon without informing her?
And more importantly, was Leon really just a chef?"