Chapter 6
Stella's POV
Chloe drifted closer. Her blue eyes scanned me with lazy curiosity. Up close, the careful makeup made her look softer than she was. Golden hair cascaded over one shoulder in perfect waves.
"Kensington Estate?" Her voice was light but probing. "You mean Arthur Kensington? How is he? I heard he's been dealing with some health issues."
My heart contracted. This was the first landmine. Any conversation about the Kensingtons could spiral toward this afternoon’s disaster—toward Christian’s threats, the investigation that could unravel everything.
I adjusted my microexpression instantly, a professional smile touching my lips. "Mr. Kensington is doing well. He’s very disciplined about his diet."
Chloe leaned in slightly. "So you must have met Chris, right? Christian Kensington. He visits his grandfather sometimes."
Her eyes were searchlights now, sweeping my face for any crack.
I lowered my gaze slightly, letting shyness creep into my voice. "I've seen Mr. Kensington in the hallways a few times. He’s usually very busy. Arthur speaks highly of him—says he’s devoted to family."
The answer was airtight. I acknowledged Christian without claiming intimacy, positioned myself as peripheral staff, and deflected with a compliment. Chloe’s smile froze for half a second—barely perceptible, but I caught it.
She shifted tactics. "So you see him often, then?"
"Just a few times," I said, softening my voice further. "My work is mostly in the kitchen and Mr. Kensington’s private dining room. I don’t really interact with other family members."
I emphasized other family membersdeliberately, reinforcing my outsider status.
Logan, slouching against the doorframe with his phone, let out a short laugh. His amber eyes flicked up. "Jesus, Chloe, you interrogating her or something? She’s a nutritionist, not a spy."
The word spy hung in the air. Logan’s tone was casual, but his eyes stayed on me, watching. He was testing.
I forced a nervous laugh, widening my eyes just enough. "I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"
"Relax," Logan said, smirking. He shoved his phone into his hoodie pocket. "She does this to everyone. Don’t take it personally."
But Chloe wasn’t done. She tilted her head, her smile turning saccharine. "Mom, since Stella comes recommended by Arthur, she must be trustworthy, right? We should take advantage of that." She paused, her gaze sliding back to me. "Arthur’s never really warmed up to me. Maybe he just prefers brunettes over blondes." Her laugh was bright and brittle. "Should I dye my hair, Mom? Would that help?"
The cruelty was wrapped in silk, but unmistakable. She was marking territory.
Vivian’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the faint tightening around her eyes. "Chloe, don’t be ridiculous." She turned to me, her tone brisk. "Stella, you’ll accompany Chloe to Arthur’s estate occasionally. It would be good for her to build a stronger relationship with the Kensingtons."
Translation: Use the nutritionist as a bridge. Make Chloe more palatable to the family that’s supposed to save us.
I kept my face carefully neutral. "Of course, Mrs. Mellon. I’d be happy to help however I can."
Inside, I was laughing. They had no idea.
Vivian gestured toward the hallway. "Lewis will take you to the kitchen now. I’ll join you in fifteen minutes."
I nodded, offering a small smile before following the butler out. As we walked, I felt Logan’s gaze on my back—sharp, curious, unsettling. He hadn’t said much, but he’d been watching. And that made him dangerous.
The kitchen was enormous, all stainless steel and marble, professional-grade appliances gleaming under recessed lighting. It looked like a showroom. Lewis handed me an employee badge and a set of keys, his expression impassive.
"This is your access card and the kitchen key. You’ll be expected to prepare breakfast for the family at seven a.m. tomorrow."
I took the items. "Thank you. Is there anything specific I should know about their preferences?"
Lewis hesitated. "The Mellons don’t typically dine together. Mr. Mellon eats in his study. Mrs. Mellon prefers her meals in her suite. Miss Chloe follows her own dietary plan. And Mr. Logan usually orders takeout."
The information landed like a stone. This wasn’t a family. It was a collection of isolated individuals living under the same roof.
But it was also an opportunity. If they didn’t eat together, they couldn’t coordinate stories. I could work them individually.
"Would it be all right if I prepared something tonight?" I asked, injecting hesitance into my voice. "As a sort of introduction?"
Lewis studied me, then nodded. "You may. But don’t stay too late."
As soon as he left, I moved. I opened the Sub-Zero fridge, scanning the contents. Fresh berries, organic greens, grass-fed beef, artisanal cheeses. I pulled out ingredients, my mind already calculating.
Chloe’s Instagram showed a low-carb diet. Logan’s gaming setup had energy drink stains—he craved sugar and caffeine. Victor had high blood pressure; he’d need low-sodium options. Vivian’s skincare routine screamed anti-aging obsession; she’d respond to antioxidant-rich foods.
I decided to make four different treats, each tailored to manipulate its target.
For Chloe: raspberry mousse, low-calorie, sweetened with agave, topped with edible gold flakes.
For Logan: espresso brownies, high-sugar and high-caffeine, with a hint of sea salt.
For Victor: blueberry oat energy balls, sugar-free and packed with omega-3s.
For Vivian: matcha almond cookies, loaded with antioxidants, low-sugar and low-fat.
I worked quickly, efficiently. Cooking wasn’t just a skill—it was a weapon. Food could comfort, seduce, poison. Tonight, it would be the first move.
Forty-five minutes later, I had four perfect plates arranged on a tray, each with a handwritten note. Lewis returned, took the tray, and left.
I stayed, watching through the crack in the door.
Chloe picked up the mousse, photographed it, then took a cautious bite. Her expression shifted from suspicion to surprise to reluctant pleasure. She took another bite.
Logan grabbed the brownie, sniffed it, then devoured half in one bite. His eyebrows went up—approval—but he muttered, "Not bad," as if admitting it would cost him.
Victor didn’t glance at the energy balls. But ten minutes later, I heard him tell Lewis, "Tell the nutritionist I want the same thing for breakfast."
Vivian picked up the cookie, examined it, then took a small, deliberate bite. Her face remained blank, but she didn’t throw it away.
Good enough.
At eight-fifty, I finished cleaning and headed for the door. I passed through the sitting room, now empty except for Logan, sprawled on the couch. His headset was off, phone screen dark. He was staring at me.
"Stella."
I stopped, turned. "Yes, Logan?"
He stood, walked over, and stopped just a little too close. He was taller, his amber eyes sharp and unreadable.
"You know," he said, his voice low, "you won’t last a month here."
My heart kicked, but I kept my expression confused, slightly hurt. "Why not?"
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared, as if trying to see through skin and bone to whatever I was hiding. Then he smiled—not kind, but not entirely cruel either.
"You’ll find out."
I took a step back, letting my voice tremble just slightly. "Logan, are you trying to scare me?"
He laughed, loud and sudden. "I’m messing with you. Relax." He clapped a hand on my shoulder, and I forced myself not to flinch. "But seriously—be careful. This house..." He gestured vaguely toward the upper floors. "It’s not what it looks like."
Then he turned and walked away.
I stood there for a long moment, replaying his words. You won’t last a month.
