Chapter 14

The kitchen was a flurry of coordinated chaos as the evening of Justin's sister's homecoming party approached. Steam rose from pots, the aroma of herbs and spices filled the air, and Adaline moved with practiced efficiency between stations, checking sauces and inspecting plated appetizers.

"Perfect. These look absolutely stunning," she praised one of the assistants who had artfully arranged canapés. The young woman beamed with pride.

The kitchen doors swung open, and Adaline expected to see Justin or perhaps Grecia checking on their progress. Instead, her blood froze. There stood Melanie, her mother, dressed in the uniform of a kitchen assistant, her eyes widening in shock as they locked with Adaline's.

For a moment, neither moved. The bustling kitchen seemed to fall silent around them, though in reality, the work continued, unaware of the tension crackling between mother and daughter.

"Mother?" Adaline finally managed, her voice barely audible over the kitchen's din.

Before she could say more, Melanie's face contorted with rage. She lunged forward, grabbing Adaline by her hair, yanking her head backward. "You worthless girl!" she spat, her fingers digging painfully into Adaline's scalp. "Thinking you can make money for yourself, so you applied too, huh?"

Pain shot through Adaline's scalp as she struggled against her mother's grip. "Let go of me!" she gasped, trying to pry her mother's fingers loose. Around them, kitchen staff froze in shock, utensils suspended mid-air.

"How dare you show your dirty face in Westfield mansion?" Melanie hissed, her face inches from Adaline's. "Who the hell let you in? That lover you came with to the court when you wanted to divorce Michael?"

Adaline winced, not just from the physical pain but from the public airing of her private life. Her hands trembled as she tried to free herself.

"You worthless pig," Melanie continued, her voice rising. "I said you should marry Mr. Thomas, you get me? He is as rich and your own mother won't be working here too."

One of the sous chefs stepped forward, uncertain. "Ma'am, please, you need to—"

"Stay out of this!" Melanie barked at him, her grip on Adaline's hair tightening further.

Tears sprang to Adaline's eyes as she struggled. The kitchen had gone completely silent now, all activity ceased, all eyes on the unfolding drama. The shame of it burned hotter than any stove in the kitchen.

The swing of the kitchen doors cut through the tense atmosphere. Grecia Westfield stood there, elegant in a navy evening dress, her eyes widening at the scene before her.

"What is going on here?" she demanded, her voice sharp with authority. She strode forward, her heels clicking decisively on the tile floor.

With surprising strength for a woman her age, Grecia separated them, forcing Melanie to release her grip on Adaline's hair. Adaline stumbled backward, her hand going to her scalp, tears streaming down her face.

Grecia turned to the kitchen staff, who stood frozen like statues around the room. "All of you, out," she commanded. "Now."

No one moved.

"Did you not hear me?" Grecia's voice cut like a knife. "If you cannot even stop a simple fight, what use are you to me tonight? Out!"

The staff scattered, filing through the doors with downcast eyes and whispers. When the last of them had gone, Grecia turned her attention back to the two women.

"Now," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Would someone care to explain what I just witnessed in my kitchen, hours before my daughter's homecoming celebration?"

Melanie straightened her uniform, her face flushed with anger but tempered now with the realization of whose presence she stood in. "Mrs. Westfield, I had no idea that my daughter was employed here. I was just surprised to—"

"Your daughter?" Grecia interrupted, looking between them with new understanding.

"Yes," Melanie said, smoothing her hair. "This ungrateful girl is my daughter. And I apologize for the scene, but she has been nothing but a disappointment. She abandoned a perfectly good marriage to Michael—"

"What are you doing in my kitchen?" Grecia cut her off, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Melanie stiffened. "I applied and got the job, Mrs. Westfield. I was just—"

"You have the nerve to start a fight with your daughter in my kitchen, old lady?" Grecia's voice was razor-sharp. "For your information, Adaline here is the head cook, and she has the right to fire you right now."

Melanie's eyes widened, confusion washing over her face before she blurted out, "This... Adaline? She doesn't deserve to work that high! She just cheated on her husband!"

"Stop lying, Mother!" Adaline stepped forward, finding her voice at last. Her hands were still shaking, but her eyes burned with long-suppressed anger. "You know Michael—the one you're using—is a worthless cheater. He cheated on me and abandoned me for my best friend. And you wanted to marry me to Mr. Thomas, who is old enough to be my grandfather!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Melanie's face cycled through several emotions—shock, anger, embarrassment—before settling on a practiced look of contrition. She could see the battle was lost here.

"I'm sorry, Madam," she said, her voice suddenly meek and pleading as she turned to Grecia. "Please don't listen to her. I really need the money I will get from this job."

Grecia's expression remained unmoved by the sudden change in demeanor. She glanced at Adaline, then back to Melanie. "It's up to Adaline," she said coldly. "But if you raise your hands against my most beloved staff again, I will send you to the cell myself."

Adaline rubbed her scalp, the physical pain already subsiding, though the emotional wound was freshly reopened. She looked at her mother—truly looked at her—perhaps for the first time in years. She saw not the intimidating figure of her childhood but a desperate, aging woman clinging to whatever leverage she could find.

"You can stay for tonight's event," Adaline said finally, her voice steady. "But you'll work under the direct supervision of my sous chef, and you'll have no contact with me. After tonight, don't come back."

Melanie's relief was palpable, though she quickly masked it with a nod. "Thank you, Adaline."

"Don't thank me," Adaline replied, turning away. "I'm not doing it for you."

Grecia placed a gentle hand on Adaline's shoulder. "Are you sure about this, dear?"

Adaline nodded. "We're short-staffed tonight as it is. And..." she hesitated, "I won't let her ruin this evening for your daughter."

A small smile tugged at Grecia's lips. "As I said, backbone and compassion. A rare combination." She turned to Melanie with an expression that could freeze water. "You heard your daughter. One wrong move, and you'll regret it."

Melanie nodded quickly, eyes downcast.

"Now," Grecia said, moving toward the door, "I'll send the staff back in. We have a celebration to prepare for."

As Grecia left, Melanie stood awkwardly, her earlier bravado completely deflated. "Adaline, I—"

"Save it," Adaline interrupted, turning away to straighten her chef's jacket. "Just do your job, Mother. That's all I expect from you now."

The kitchen doors swung open again as the staff filed back in, their curious glances darting between mother and daughter. Adaline straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and clapped her hands together.

"We're behind schedule, everyone. Let's get back to work. The Westfield family deserves our best tonight."