Even with their help in preparing the ingredients, cooking from a wheelchair was a struggle.
I lost track of time. My legs started aching again, a dull, persistent pain that refused to fade.
By the time I finally finished the dishes, a full table’s worth of food, the villa was eerily silent.
The housekeeper approached me, looking troubled.
“Three hours ago, Miss Yvonne wanted some snacks, so Mr. Gunn and the others all left.”
Not a single flicker of surprise crossed my face.
I merely hummed in acknowledgment and asked a maid to push me upstairs so I could pack my things.
***
At dawn, the car arrived to pick me up.
Just as the driver started the engine, he suddenly gasped, “Who's the kid?!”
I looked up—Tyler stood in front of the car, blocking the path.
