trial stand mixer clicked s

was shar

at shot up my arm. I screamed, a raw, animal

man who had just done this, star

Gabby," he said, his voice

ss the words, the action, the sheer betr

larship to Le Cordon Bleu, my father's legacy-al

y face. The words were a choked whisper. "My hand...

pped hand, then back at my face. His expre

e promised, as if that could fix anything. "You won'

on top of the injury. He thought he could

in my mouth. I looked from my ruined hand to his fa

if my rejection was the most sho

aced with arrogance. He actually scoffed. "You'r

, leaving me locked to the mixer, screami

he came in, all charm and expensive clothes. He said he was drawn to my passion, my drive. He loved tha

rhood shop. My dad gave up his own chance at greatness to raise me after my mom left. He taught me everything, his flour-dusted hands g

hisk wasn't just a competition for me; it

of his family's chauffeur. He told me the story of the car accident, h

then, a shadow crossing his f

intended to pay with my future. I never understood that in his world