"Quennel."


    His suit jacket was draped over his arm, and the moment he stepped inside, his eyes lit up. "Something smells amazing."


    "I just threw a few things together. I hope it''s to your liking," Hannah said, taking his jacket and hanging it up.


    Quennel followed her to the dining room and stared at the impressive spread, momentarily speechless.


    "You made all of this yourself?" he asked, pulling out a chair. "Hannah, you''re even more incredible than I thought. This looks better than a meal from a Michelin-star restaurant."


    Hannah blushed at his constant praise, touching the side of her neck shyly.


    Quennel rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms. "Wait," he said suddenly. "A meal like this deserves a good bottle of wine. Let me go grab one from upstairs. Don''t start without me."


    "You really don''t have to."


    "Nonsense. I''ll be right back."


    Hannah sat at the table, her hands sped in herp, feeling almost light-headed. Lately, it seemed like everyone wasplimenting her-on her work, her cooking, her skills. The praise was so overwhelming it brought tears to her eyes, because it had been so, so long since anyone had said such things to her.


    To Lionel, she was a failure who couldn''t even get a job at the Rosenberg Group, a cook whose borate meals were left untouched and thrown away.


    But the truth was, she was a talentedwyer. She was a skilled chef.


    Everyone else could see her worth. Only he had constantly torn her down, systematically destroying her confidence.


    Hannah took a deep breath, blinking back tears just as Quennel returned.


    "Hold on," he said, uncorking the wine. "Let me pour, and we can toast before we take a picture."


    He filled two sses, raised his, and clinked it against hers for the photo.


    "Quennel, thank you," Hannah said, her voice thick with emotion.


    "Don''t thank me. Helping you is the most natural thing in the world," he replied,


    taking a sip of wine, a gentle smile ying on his lips.


    After dinner, Quennel took the leftover dessert with him, saying he''d have them as a spack while be workedter Hannah cleared the dishes and posted the photo they


    had taken to Facebook.


    "Dinner for my big brother. My cooking skills haven''t just returned, they''ve surpassed their former glory. I really am the best!"


    Thements section immediately filled with people asking about her mystery brother.


    Thinking about Quennel workingte, Hannah decided to make him ate-night snack for the next day and started searching for recipes.


    The next day, in an office at the Rosenberg Group headquarters, Lionel''s


    assistant, Owen, hesitated after finishing his report.


    "Spit it out," Lionel said, annoyed by his dithering.


    "Mr. Rosenberg, you mentioned that your wife has you blocked on Facebook, correct?"


    yel


    The question made Lionel''s mood darken instantly. To this day, his number was still blocked, and even the new SIM card he''d bought had met the same fate


    "What is it?" he snapped.


    Owen wordlessly handed him his phone. "Your wife posted this on Facebookst


    night. There was another one before this, too."


    Lionel took the phone. The picture


    showed Hannah clinking sses with a man whose face was out of frame, only his arm visible. The intimate captionbined with the image sent a jolt of pure rage, through him.


    "Find out where she''s living and who that man is. Now!"