Chapter 35 Chapter 35: From Kitchen to Wing: Racing Against Time and Temper
The kitchen was warm, loud, and comfortably alive in the way it always was around lunchtime. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows and stretched across the wooden table where we sat, turning the steam rising from Chef Lorenzo’s pots into soft golden ribbons. The smell of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh basil wrapped around the room like a comforting blanket. For a while, it felt like the mansion had finally exhaled after the tense morning. Rosa was halfway through a story about a guest from last winter, Marco was lazily tearing apart a piece of bread, and Neille sat beside me stirring her soup with quiet patience while Chef Lorenzo moved around the kitchen like a general commanding a battlefield.
“Marco, if you tear that bread any smaller,” Rosa said dramatically, pointing her spoon at him, “we’ll have to start calling it breadcrumbs instead of lunch.”
Marco didn’t even look up. “Relax, Rosa. I’m appreciating the texture. Good bread deserves respect.”
“Respect?” Rosa scoffed. “You’ve destroyed half the loaf.”
Chef Lorenzo spun around from the stove, waving a wooden spoon in Marco’s direction. “Eh! Marco! Do not torture the bread like this. I bake this morning with love. You eat like civilized man, capisce?”
Marco raised his hands innocently. “Chef, I am civilized.”
“You are barbarian with good haircut,” Lorenzo replied, which made Rosa burst into laughter.
Even Neille smiled faintly. I leaned back slightly in my chair, enjoying the rare moment when the mansion didn’t feel like a pressure cooker. That’s when the sudden sharp buzz of the kitchen intercom cut through the air.
The sound was loud enough to make Marco flinch.
Chef Lorenzo turned his head toward the wall device with a slight frown, wiping his hands on a white cloth before walking over to it.
“Pronto… kitchen,” he said, pressing the button. His thick Italian accent curled around the English words. A second later his eyebrows lifted slightly, and he glanced back at me. “Si, si… she here.” He listened for another moment, then nodded quickly. “Okay, Signora… I tell.” When he hung up, his gaze shifted toward me. “Sera, the Signora Elara… she want you immediatamente. You go now, eh?”
The table went quiet. Rosa leaned forward immediately, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Elara wants you? Now?” she asked. Neille and Marco looked up as well, their lunch momentarily forgotten. I stood slowly, wiping my hands on my napkin as Chef Lorenzo added in a lower voice, “She say you bring… how you say… the red dress gift. From Mister Auren.”
That made the room pause again.
“Wait,” Marco said, blinking. “What gift?”
Rosa’s eyes widened with interest. “Yes, what gift? Since when is Mr,Auren sending gifts here?” She rested her elbows on the table, clearly settling in for a story. Even Neille turned slightly in her chair, though her expression was quieter, more watchful. I hesitated a moment, feeling all three pairs of eyes on me, then sighed softly.
“It arrived this morning,” I explained, picking up my cup again before setting it back down. “A delivery box. Mr. Auren sent it to Madam Elara.” I shrugged lightly. “Apparently it’s… an apology gift.”
“Apology?” Marco repeated, nearly choking on a laugh. “That man apologizes?”
Rosa grinned. “Now I really want to hear this.”
“He didn’t attend last night’s dinner,” I said. “So he sent a dress instead.” I paused briefly, remembering the moment the fabric had spilled into elr hands like a living flame. “It’s… extravagant.”
“How extravagant?” Rosa asked immediately.
“Very,” I replied. “Crimson silk. Hand-stitched embroidery. The kind of dress that looks like it belongs in an opera house rather than a wardrobe.” I folded my arms lightly. “Honestly, it feels less like an apology and more like a declaration.”
Marco let out a low whistle. “Madonna… that must have cost a fortune.”
Chef Lorenzo snorted softly as he returned to stirring a sauce on the stove. “Eh, rich men… when they make mistake, they send expensive cloth instead of proper sorry. Is easier.”
Neille had been quiet through most of the conversation, but now she finally spoke. “So Elara asked you to bring it to her room?” she said. Her tone was calm, though there was a faint sharpness beneath it.
“Yes,” I said. “Right now, apparently.”
Rosa leaned back with a teasing smile. “Well, go on then. Don’t keep the lady waiting. I want a full report later though. Especially if she actually likes it.”
Marco nodded in agreement. “Yes, and tell us if the mysterious Mr. Auren survives this apology attempt.”
I replied as I pushed my chair back. “I’ll let you know if the mansion survives it.”
Chef Lorenzo waved a wooden spoon toward the hallway. “Vai, vai. Before she call again and shout at all of us.”.
Sera slipped out of the kitchen just as Chef Lorenzo’s voice followed after her.
“Eh—Sera!” he called from behind the counter.
I turned halfway back toward the door. Chef Lorenzo was pointing the wooden spoon at me like a warning baton, his thick brows pulled together in urgency.
“You go fast, sì?” he said firmly. “Madam Elara say immediately. Not five minute, not ten minute. Immediately.”
Marco chuckled under his breath, but the chef shot him a glare.
“I serious,” Lorenzo continued, lowering his voice slightly. “If she call again and you still here… she make storm. And when she make storm, everyone in house get wet.”
Rosa laughed nervously. “He means we’ll all suffer.”
Chef Lorenzo nodded emphatically. “Exactamente. If you late, she shout at me. Then I shout at Marco. Then Marco cry like baby. Whole kitchen disaster.”
“I do not cry,” Marco protested.
“You cry inside,” Lorenzo replied without missing a beat.
I couldn’t help smiling faintly despite the tension. “I’ll hurry, Chef.”
He wagged the spoon again, still serious. “No hurry—run. Go take dress, go upstairs. You come late and Madam Elara angry, eh… I pretend I never see you.”
“Very supportive,” I said dryly.
Rosa waved both hands at me. “Go, go! Save us from Elara’s wrath.”
Neille didn’t laugh like the others. She simply met my eyes for a moment and said quietly, “Don’t keep her waiting.”
I nodded once and pushed the kitchen door open.
The warmth and noise of the kitchen disappeared the moment the door shut behind me. The hallway outside felt cooler, quieter, the sound of my footsteps echoing softly as I moved quickly toward the staff quarters. Chef Lorenzo’s words still rang in my ears.
Immediately.
And if there was one thing everyone in the mansion understood, it was that Elara Veyra did not like to wait.
By the time I reached my room, my pace had quickened. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my gaze going straight to the bed where the large garment box rested exactly where I had left it earlier.
For a moment I simply stood there looking at it.
The Red Reign dress.
“An apology gift,” I murmured to myself. Then I lifted the garment case into my arms. It was longer and heavier than it looked, the weight settling against my side as I adjusted my grip.
“Alright,” I whispered to the empty room. “Let’s not keep Madam Elara waiting.”
I stepped out of my quarters and headed straight for the main staircase leading upstairs.
The mansion grew quieter the higher I went. The lively sounds of the kitchen faded behind me, replaced by the calm silence of the upper floors. Sunlight spilled through tall windows along the stairwell, and my footsteps softened as I reached the thick carpets of the private wing.
Elara’s corridor was always different from the rest of the house—quieter, more controlled, like the air itself understood whose territory this was.
I slowed slightly as I approached the large doors at the end of the hall.
Elara’s room.
Holding the garment case carefully, I straightened my posture and stopped outside the door. For a second I took a steadying breath, remembering Chef Lorenzo’s warning about her patience.
Then I raised my hand and knocked softly.
“ Elara,” I called through the door. “It’s Sera. I’ve brought the dress.”