12. Christian
12
CHRISTIAN
I never liked being kept in the dark.
And I hated playing defense.
Scarlett was strong. Resilient. She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed someone to save her.
But after the last few days—after watching her fight battle after battle—I knew she couldn’t keep doing this alone.
And I wouldn’t let her.
So I called in a favor.
"You're sure?" I asked, my grip tightening around my phone.
Eric exhaled sharply on the other end. "Yes. I've already made contact with the investigator. He's the best. If anyone can find out who's behind this, it's him."
"Good."
The restaurant had barely survived the health inspection.
Whoever was behind this wasn't just trying to tarnish Scarlett’s name—they were trying to bury her.
And if they thought I’d sit back and let that happen, they didn’t know who the hell they were messing with.
I hung up and ran a hand through my hair, staring out over the city from my office.
Scarlett had been different lately. Tired more often. Distracted.
At first, I thought it was just the stress of everything.
The restaurant, the sabotage, the fact that she had to constantly be on guard.
But something in my gut told me there was more to it.
I needed to keep her safe.
And I needed answers.
The investigator I hired, Ralph Langley, met me the next afternoon at a private lounge I often used for discreet business dealings.
He was a man in his fifties, a no-nonsense ex-cop who told me he’d seen the worst of people and didn’t give a damn about it anymore.
He didn’t waste time.
"You were right to call me," Langley said, sliding a manila folder across the table. "This isn’t just some competitor playing dirty. Someone has been pulling strings to make sure every setback hurts."
I flipped open the file. My jaw tightened.
Paperwork. Names. Timelines.
And then?—
A photo.
My blood ran cold as I read the name of the woman on the picture.
Victoria Snow.
I looked up. "You're certain?"
Langley nodded. "She’s careful. Everything’s indirect. She doesn’t leave a paper trail, but I’ve connected enough dots to say with confidence—she’s orchestrating this."
A muscle in my jaw ticked.
Who was this woman? The more I read on her, the more I grew furious. This wasn’t the first time Victoria Snow had sabotaged a fellow chef.
But this? Targeting Scarlett’s suppliers, tipping off health inspectors, trying to destroy everything she’d built?
It was personal.
And I needed to know why.
"Where is she now?" I asked, my voice calm. Controlled.
Langley sighed. "That’s the problem. She's slippery. Knows how to cover her tracks. But I’ll find her."
"Make it fast."
He nodded and stood, slipping a business card onto the table before walking out.
I sat there, staring at the picture, anger burning beneath my skin.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
By the time I reached Amélie that evening, the dinner rush was in full swing.
Scarlett was in the kitchen, moving through her staff like she was born to do it—giving orders, checking plates, making sure everything was perfect.
But I saw it.
The exhaustion in her shoulders. The way she rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking.
I stepped inside, and the second her eyes landed on me, some of the tension melted from her face.
"Hey," she said, wiping her hands on a towel. "You here to inspect my work?"
I smirked, leaning against the counter. "Always."
Her lips curved, but her exhaustion was undeniable.
"Come with me," I said.
She blinked. "Christian, I?—"
"Five minutes. That’s all I need."
She exhaled but nodded, following me to her office.
I closed the door behind us and turned to her.
"Something’s wrong," I said.
Scarlett stiffened. "What do you mean?"
I crossed my arms. "You’re exhausted. And don’t tell me it’s just the restaurant. You’re pushing yourself too hard."
Her eyes flickered, and for a split second, I thought she was going to tell me.
But then she shook her head. "I just need to get through this, Christian. Once this blows over, I’ll be fine."
I stepped closer, cupping her face gently. "You don’t have to do this alone."
She swallowed. "I know."
I searched her eyes, looking for something she wasn’t ready to say.
So I let it go. For now.
Instead, I said, "I know who’s behind this. You remember me texting you that I hired a private investigator?”
Scarlett reluctantly nodded.
“Langley got me a name.”
Scarlett froze. "Who?”
I took a deep breath. “Her name’s Victoria Snow.”
Her expression darkened. "That bitch. I know her. She has a negative reputation in the industry. We’ve clashed a few times but…to go to this extent?”
I brushed my thumb along her jaw. "She’s been careful. But I’m not letting her get away with this."
Scarlett clenched her fists. "I should have known. I should have seen this coming."
"None of this is your fault," I said firmly.
Her shoulders sagged slightly, the fight bleeding out of her.
Then she looked up at me. "What now?"
I exhaled slowly. "Now, we wait for Langley to find her."
Scarlett nodded, but I could see the fire in her eyes.
She wasn’t just going to wait.
Neither was I.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "We’ll take her down, Scarlett."
She rested her forehead against my chest, letting out a slow breath.
And I knew, no matter what came next, I’d make sure she’ll pull through this mess.
Scarlett was keeping something from me.
I’d felt it for days.
At first, I’d assumed it was stress.
Between the health inspection, the shipment crisis, and every other stunt Victoria Snow had pulled, Scarlett had barely had time to breathe.
But this was different.
She was different.
More tired than usual. Distracted, even when we were together.
And no matter how much I tried to carry some of the weight for her, she kept pulling away.
I wasn’t having it.
I found her in her office at Amélie, staring at a stack of invoices, but I could tell she wasn’t actually reading them.
She was lost in thought, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk like it was the only thing grounding her.
I knocked on the doorframe. "Scarlett."
She startled, looking up, and for the briefest second, something flickered in her eyes—guilt? Worry?
Then it was gone.
"Christian," she said, straightening. "What are you doing here?"
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. "I could ask you the same thing."
She frowned. "I work here."
I studied her. "And when was the last time you actually took a break?"
Her lips pressed together. "I don't have time for a break."
I pushed off the door and walked toward her. "Scarlett, talk to me. You’ve been different lately."
She shook her head. "It’s just everything happening all at once. I need to stay focused."
I didn’t buy it.
I took her hands in mine, forcing her to look at me. "Is it me?"
Her eyes widened. "What? No!"
"Then what is it?" My voice was low, steady, but there was an edge of frustration I couldn’t hide. "You’re shutting me out."
Scarlett exhaled, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, there was something raw in her gaze.
"I just… I don’t know how to?—"
Her phone buzzed.
Scarlett tensed, glancing at it like it was a viper ready to strike.
I sighed. "Ignore it."
She looked at the screen, her expression tightening. "I can’t."
Something in my gut twisted.
"What happened?" I asked, bracing myself.
She swallowed hard. "There’s a problem with the event."
I didn’t need to ask which event.
Tonight was a big deal—one of the most high-profile charity galas in the city, with Scarlett and Amélie in charge of catering.
A flawless service would reinforce her reputation, solidifying her place among the top chefs in the industry.
A disaster?
That would be catastrophic.
Scarlett grabbed her coat, already moving. I followed her out the door.
The venue was chaos when we arrived.
Guests were murmuring, staff members were scrambling, and I caught sight of one of Scarlett’s sous chefs arguing with a manager near the kitchen entrance.
Scarlett stormed inside, and I was right behind her.
"What the hell happened?" she demanded.
Her sous chef looked pale. "Someone tampered with the main course."
Scarlett’s entire body went rigid. "What do you mean tampered?"
The man swallowed. "The ingredients were switched out. The sauce—there was something off. We only caught it because one of the servers noticed a strange smell."
My jaw clenched.
Scarlett rushed to the plating station, lifting a ladle of the sauce and bringing it to her nose.
The second she caught the scent, she recoiled.
"Son of a bitch," she muttered.
I stepped beside her. "What is it?"
Scarlett’s hands curled into fists. "Someone sabotaged our dish."
I didn’t need to ask who.
Victoria Snow.
This wasn’t just about making things difficult for Scarlett anymore. This was a public, calculated humiliation.
"How bad is it?" I asked quietly.
Scarlett exhaled sharply. "Bad. If we don’t have a replacement, we’ll have to tell the guests their meals aren’t coming."
I glanced at the dining hall. A room full of the city’s elite, waiting to be impressed.
The press was already here, cameras flashing. This was exactly what Victoria wanted.
Not on my watch.
I turned to Scarlett. "What do you need?"
Her shoulders were tense. "We have backup ingredients, but it’ll take time. And we’re already behind schedule."
"How much time?"
"At least forty-five minutes."
I nodded. "Then we stall."
Scarlett looked up at me, uncertainty in her eyes.
I cupped her face, my thumb brushing over her cheek. "I won’t let them do this to you."
She sucked in a shaky breath and nodded.
Then she turned back to her team.
"Listen up!" Her voice rang through the kitchen, commanding. "We’re making adjustments. I need everyone to move fast. We don’t have time for mistakes."
The kitchen erupted into motion.
I walked out into the dining hall, scanning the crowd.
I spotted the host of the event, a prominent businessman, and made my way to him.
"Everything all right?" he asked, noticing my approach.
I gave him my best charm them into submission smile.
"Absolutely. Just a slight delay in the plating. In the meantime, how about some additional wine service? On me,” I said.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he nodded.
The waitstaff was quick to move, filling glasses, distracting guests, keeping things light.
And forty-five minutes later, the first plates were served.
Scarlett’s team had pulled it off.
Barely.
But I saw the way she kept looking at the entrance, her expression tight.
She knew Victoria Snow wouldn’t stop.
And for the first time, I saw something else in Scarlett’s eyes.
Doubt.
After the last dish went out, she stepped into the back, pressing her hands against the counter, her breathing uneven.
I followed her.
"You did it," I said.
She shook her head. "Did I?"
I stepped closer. "Scarlett?—"
Her hands clenched. "I’m so tired, Christian. Every time I fix something, something else happens. I can’t?—"
She cut herself off, inhaling sharply.
I waited.
She turned to me, her eyes shining with something dangerously close to defeat.
"I don’t know if I can keep doing this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
My chest tightened.
I knew Scarlett. I knew how much she’d bled for this restaurant, how much she’d sacrificed.
Hearing her say she might walk away—that was Victoria’s true goal.
I couldn’t let her win.
I reached for Scarlett, my hands firm on her waist, grounding her. "Listen to me," I said, my voice low. Steady. "You are not giving up."
She swallowed hard. "Christian…"
"You’ve worked too damn hard to let someone like Victoria Snow take this from you."
Scarlett shuddered, leaning into me.
I held her tighter.
Whatever it took, I’d destroy Victoria before I let her break Scarlett.
Then Scarlett’s phone buzzed again.
She stiffened in my arms, then pulled it out.
Her expression darkened.
"What is it?" I asked.
She turned the screen toward me.
A message.
"Step back, or you’ll lose everything."
My blood went ice cold.
Scarlett looked up at me. "This isn’t just sabotage anymore."
She was right.
This was war.