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I looked up. "You're certain?"
Langley nodded. "She’s careful. Everything’s indirect. She doesn’t leave a paper trail, but I’ve connected enough dots to say with confidence—she’s orchestrating this."
A muscle in my jaw ticked.
Who was this woman? The more I read on her, the more I grew furious. This wasn’t the first time Victoria Snow had sabotaged a fellow chef.
But this? Targeting Scarlett’s suppliers, tipping off health inspectors, trying to destroy everything she’d built?
It was personal.
And I needed to know why.
"Where is she now?" I asked, my voice calm. Controlled.
Langley sighed. "That’s the problem. She's slippery. Knows how to cover her tracks. But I’ll find her."
"Make it fast."
He nodded and stood, slipping a business card onto the table before walking out.
I sat there, staring at the picture, anger burning beneath my skin.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
By the time I reached Amélie that evening, the dinner rush was in full swing.
Scarlett was in the kitchen, moving through her staff like she was born to do it—giving orders, checking plates, making sure everything was perfect.
But I saw it.
The exhaustion in her shoulders. The way she rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking.
I stepped inside, and the second her eyes landed on me, some of the tension melted from her face.
"Hey," she said, wiping her hands on a towel. "You here to inspect my work?"
I smirked, leaning against the counter. "Always."
Her lips curved, but her exhaustion was undeniable.
"Come with me," I said.
She blinked. "Christian, I?—"
"Five minutes. That’s all I need."
She exhaled but nodded, following me to her office.
I closed the door behind us and turned to her.
"Something’s wrong," I said.
Scarlett stiffened. "What do you mean?"
I crossed my arms. "You’re exhausted. And don’t tell me it’s just the restaurant. You’re pushing yourself too hard."
Her eyes flickered, and for a split second, I thought she was going to tell me.