On His IPO Day, He Chose My Sister Chapter 06

On His IPO Day, He Chose My Sister Chapter 06

The second I stepped off the plane, Arizona’s sweltering heat washed over me in a thick wave.

Julian, the headhunter who’d been begging me to come back for three years, stood by the exit holding Seven’s leash. The second Seven spotted me, he yanked free and bolted straight over.

“Woof!”

I stumbled back half a step from his weight, then knelt down and pulled him into a tight hug. “Easy, boy. Mom’s here now.”

Julian walked over and handed me a crisp new chef’s coat, my name stitched neatly across the chest.

Maya Quinn.

Not the woman standing behind Ethan.

Not Mrs. Cole.

Just me.

Julian smiled. “Welcome back, Chef.”

My throat tightened with sudden warmth. “Thank you.”

He chuckled and waved a hand. “Don’t get all emotional yet—we’ve got service starting tonight.”

We drove deep into the Sonoran Desert.

The gig was a high-end outdoor banquet hosted by a luxury brand for their annual gala. The timeline was tight, the makeshift kitchen exposed to wind-blown sand, and temperatures swung wildly from sweltering days to chilly nights.

But the second I stepped foot in that temporary kitchen, surrounded by stockpots, sharp blades, roaring burners and fresh ingredients, every ounce of restlessness melted away.

I no longer needed to linger in an empty house waiting for a man who’d never come home.

All I had to do was stand in my rightful place.

Fire up the stove.

Taste every sauce.

Plate each dish.

As the first course headed out to the dining area that night, Julian stepped up beside me and spoke quietly.

“You know, I was genuinely gutted when you turned me down three years ago.”

I kept my eyes locked on the simmering sauce in front of me.

“What about now?”

“Now I’m just glad you finally came around.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. “Good to hear.”

We worked nonstop for half a month, and word of my return spread fast through the culinary industry.

People whispered that Maya Quinn, the chef who’d vanished off the map years ago, was back—and sharper, steadier, more certain of her own path than ever before.

Service wrapped late that night, and Julian sat out by the camp with me, passing me an ice-cold water bottle.

“Wanna hear what’s going on with Ethan?”

I said nothing, and he took my silence as consent.

“After you left, he took Chloe to this fancy upscale restaurant in New York. One bite of their steak, and he spit it right back out onto his plate.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. It didn’t surprise me at all.

For years, Ethan almost never ate at restaurants unless he was traveling for work. It wasn’t that he loved home-cooked food—it’s just his taste buds were totally used to my cooking.

Julian went on.

“He mumbled that it couldn’t hold a candle to your food. Chloe’s face turned sour instantly. She told the waiter to swap it out, said she’d keep ordering new plates until something suited his taste.”

Ethan agreed, but the meal left him uneasy.

It hit him then that the house he’d gone back to was empty.

No simmering broths lined the fridge, no handwritten recipe notebooks stacked on the counter, not even Seven’s old dog bowl anywhere in sight.

For the first ten days after I left, he’d paraded Chloe around the office, letting every staff member call her the future Mrs. Cole. He’d fully expected me to storm back, to scream and cry and beg for his attention, to cave first like I always had for the past decade.

But I never reached out, not once.

On the eleventh day, he went home. All he found was a single slip of paper left on the dining table, with only two lines written in my handwriting.

It read: Ethan, you never once stopped to ask if I even wanted to marry you. My answer is no, not anymore.

Julian turned to study my face. “Do you regret any of it?”

I shook my head firmly. “Not a single bit.”

Warm desert wind swept over us, carrying grit and dry heat.

I tilted my head up to gaze at the sprawling starry sky above.

“I just wish I’d woken up sooner.”