They Demanded a 60-Course Birthday Feast to Prove They Owned Me — So I Delivered Exactly 60 Dishes, and an Eviction Notice
“Julian locked me in the kitchen,” I said, and my own voice sounded strange to me, flat and calm and far away.
“He and Fiona are forcing me to cook a sixty-course feast by noon tomorrow for her birthday.
If I can’t, he’s throwing me out on the street.”
Darcy swore, once, with real feeling, and then I heard her shift, audibly, into something colder and faster — the gear I would come to think of as her apex-predator mode.
“All right,” she said.
“Listen to me, Sloan.
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