Chapter 12 - Between Two Worlds
Back at the estate, Della found herself adrift in her new life, uncertain how to occupy days that no longer required an alarm clock or a name tag. She wandered into the kitchen one morning to find Mrs. Alvarez kneading dough, humming an old tune.
"You don't have to do that yourself," Della said, sitting at the counter. "Isn't there staff for the kitchen?"
"There is," Mrs. Alvarez said, smiling without looking up. "But some mornings, a person needs to make something with her hands. I think you understand that better than most people who walk through this door."
Della huffed a small, surprised laugh. "Is it that obvious? That I don't belong here?"
Mrs. Alvarez finally looked up, her eyes soft but firm. "You misunderstand, dear. It's obvious you do belong here — because you're the only person who's set foot in this house who didn't want anything from it."
May you like
The words settled over Della like a small, unexpected gift. She thought of Royce's cold reputation, of Viktor's briefcases full of ruin, of the gates and the guards and the money that still made her chest tight with unease — and then she thought of the man who sat by her hospital bed all night without being asked.
Maybe, she thought, that was the whole of it: not two worlds colliding, but one man quietly building a bridge between them, plank by plank, for her.
