Chapter 39

DAHLIA

I was refilling the sugar canisters at the coffee station when I felt her before I saw her.

The scent hit first—expensive perfume with sharp floral notes and undertones of something predatory. The kind of scent that didn’t belong in a place where people came for pancakes and early morning peace.

“Cute,” came a voice behind me. Smooth. Gloved in mock-sweetness. “Still playing house with stainless steel and ceramic mugs.”

I stiffened.

I didn’t need to turn around to know it was her.

I straightened slowly, setting the last sugar tin down with more control than I felt. My pulse quickened, but I made sure my expression stayed neutral—maybe even a little bored—as I finally turned to face her.

She was leaning against the far counter, arms crossed, like she had nothing better to do than skewer me with her eyes. Every inch of her screamed calculated elegance: hair pristine, lipstick flawless, nails the color of vengeance. That ridiculous blous