“You’re still alive. I half-expected the Beast to finally snap and bury you in the rose garden after that stunt with the piano.”

Isabel’s voice made me jump nearly out of my skin. I was standing in the middle of the massive, industrial-grade kitchen at two in the morning, clutching a bag of flour like it was a life preserver. The moonlight was streaming through the high windows, turning the stainless steel counters into silver blades.

“Jesus, Isabel! You trying to give me a heart attack?” I hissed, clutching my chest.

The head chef of the Aldridge estate didn’t look like the Gordon Ramsay type. She was a stout woman...