The kitchen had never looked so… violated.
For a place designed with pristine marble counters, polished chrome, and a level of luxury that screamed untouchable, it now looked like a war zone.
Flour dusted the air like smoke after an explosion. A bowl lay overturned on the counter, its contents dripping slowly onto the floor. Half-cut vegetables were scattered everywhere—some sliced, some brutally stabbed, some… simply destroyed.
And in the middle of it all stood Kendella Delacroix.
She held a knife like it had personally offended her.
Her brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as she stared down at the onion in front of her like it was a business rival she intended to eliminate.
"This makes no sense," she muttered under her breath.
Her phone was propped up against a jar, a cooking tutorial playing at full volume.
"Slice the onion evenly—"
"Evenly how?" Kendella snapped back at the video. "It's round. This is discrimination."
She stabbed the onion again.
