Chapter 97. Chef For Daddy: pt. 3

I was wiping down the counter after lunch when Mr. Enzo appeared in the kitchen doorway again. He didn’t lean this time—just stood straight, hands in his pockets, watching me with that quiet intensity that made my stomach flutter in a way I didn’t understand.

“Zara,” he said, voice low but clear. “Can we talk for a minute?”

I set the cloth down, wiping my hands on my apron. “Yes, sir.”

He stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head up a little. “I have a proposition for you. Something outside of work. Are you interested in earning real money—millions, potentially?”

My breath caught. Millions. The word echoed in my head like a bell. I thought of Eva instantly—her pale face when the fever came, the way she clutched my old doll because we couldn’t afford new ones, the tuition letter Aunt Clara had hidden under the Bible because she couldn’t bear to show it to me yet.

I hesitated, fingers twisting the edge of my apron. “Millions?” I repeated sof