Bianca noticed the ribbon immediately.
It shouldn't have stood out.
Just a strip of red fabric tied around a child's wrist—cheap, uneven, clearly homemade.
But Bianca had trained her eyes to see what others ignored.
Patterns.
Adjustments.
Defenses.
Jessica stood near the kitchen entrance, waiting for her mother. The child swung her arm slightly as she hummed to herself.
The ribbon moved with her.
Bianca watched.
Red.
Bright.
Intentional.
*An anchor,* Bianca realized.
She tilted her head, studying how Hilary's hand found the child without hesitation this time. Fingers brushing skin, then ribbon.
Touch.
Confirmation.
Relief.
Bianca smiled faintly.
"So you learned," she murmured under her breath.
She took a step closer, pretending to review something on her tablet.
The ribbon brushed the air between them.
Bianca leaned down just slightly.
"That's pretty," she said softly to Jessica. "Did your mommy give it to you?"
Jessica shook her head.
"I made it," she replied proudly. "So Mommy doesn't get lost."
Bianca's eyes flicked—briefly, precisely—to Hilary.
Lost.
"Yes," Bianca said gently. "That's very smart of you."
She straightened, heart calm, mind already moving.
*Visual anchor,* she assessed.
*Child-centered.*
*Limited.*
Her gaze dropped once more to the ribbon.
*Which means,* Bianca thought, *if the anchor fails…*
She closed her tablet.
"Well," she said lightly, stepping away, "I'll see you both later."
As Bianca walked down the corridor, her smile slowly sharpened.
"Red ribbons can be untied," she whispered.
"And colors," she added softly, "can always be changed."
The email arrived at 06:12 a.m.
Hilary was already awake.
She lay still, listening to the apartment breathe—to the soft hum of the city waking up, to the quiet rhythm of Gerard's steps in the kitchen. Coffee. Toast. The usual order of a life that refused to fall apart loudly.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand.
She didn't reach for it immediately.
Habit had taught her that mornings were fragile now. The first minutes belonged to memory—to scent, to sound, to anchoring herself before the day tried to rearrange her.
Gerard entered the bedroom a moment later.
"Good morning," he said gently. "It's me."
Hilary smiled.
"I know."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, the familiar warmth settling her nerves. Only then did she pick up her phone.
She read the subject line once.
Twice.
**Board Assignment Update — Effective Immediately**
Her thumb hovered.
Gerard noticed the shift in her breathing.
"What is it?"
Hilary opened the email.
**Due to increased operational demands ahead of the international culinary competition, the board has approved the appointment of an Assistant Chef to support Chef Hilary during preparations.**
She scrolled.
**Assigned Personnel: Bianca R.**
Hilary's fingers went cold.
Gerard read over her shoulder.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"They didn't ask," Hilary said softly.
"No," Gerard replied. "They informed."
The hotel kitchen felt different that morning.
Not hostile.
Just… alert.
Hilary sensed it the moment she stepped inside—the way movements seemed more careful, the way voices adjusted around her. Respect, yes. But also curiosity.
She hated curiosity.
She anchored herself the way she'd learned to.
Counter on the left.
Heat lamps ahead.
The smell of citrus cleanser and steel.
Home.
"Chef Hilary."
The voice came from directly in front of her.
Female.
Measured.
Warm—but not friendly.
Hilary lifted her head.
"Yes?"
Bianca stepped into her space just enough to be present, not enough to intrude.
"Bianca R.," she said calmly. "Assistant Chef. I've been assigned to work with you."
Hilary smiled politely.
"Welcome."
Bianca extended a hand.
Hilary hesitated for a fraction of a second—then accepted it.
The handshake was light.
Professional.
Controlled.
"Please," Bianca said smoothly, releasing her hand, "let me know how I can make things easier for you."
Easier.
The word lodged somewhere unpleasant.
Gerard watched from the doorway, arms crossed.
Bianca turned toward him.
"And you must be Mr. Vale," she said. "It's an honor."
Gerard nodded once.
"Keep it professional," he replied.
Bianca's smile didn't flicker.
"Of course."
The morning briefing began.
Hilary spoke confidently—her voice steady, her instructions precise. This was her domain. Illness had not taken that from her.
Bianca listened attentively.
Too attentively.
She asked the right questions.
She anticipated steps before they were announced.
She never interrupted—only supplemented.
Hilary noticed.
*She's good,* she thought.
That unsettled her more than incompetence would have.
During prep, Bianca moved seamlessly beside her—always a half-step back, always available.
"Knife on your right," Bianca said once, gently.
Hilary froze.
"I know," she replied evenly.
"Of course," Bianca said. "Just habit."
A minute later—
"Careful, the oil's hot."
"I'm aware."
"Sorry," Bianca murmured. "Reflex."
By the third time, Hilary's shoulders were tight.
She hated being guided.
She hated even more that part of her welcomed it.
Across the room, Jessica waited quietly with her red ribbon tied carefully around her wrist.
Hilary checked on her by scent alone.
Safe.
Still safe.
Bianca noticed the glance.
At lunch, the kitchen thinned.
Bianca approached Hilary with two cups of tea.
"Chamomile," she said. "You prefer it in the afternoons, don't you?"
Hilary stiffened.
"I do," she replied slowly. "How did you know?"
Bianca smiled.
"I read your interviews," she said lightly. "You talk a lot about rituals."
Hilary accepted the cup.
The scent was correct.
But something in her chest remained tight.
"You don't have to manage me," Hilary said quietly.
"I'm not," Bianca replied. "I'm supporting you."
Hilary sipped.
The tea was perfect.
That bothered her.
Later, as Hilary washed her hands, Bianca stood beside her at the sink.
"You're very brave," Bianca said casually.
Hilary turned.
"Excuse me?"
"To continue working at this level," Bianca continued, tone sincere. "Most people would step back."
Hilary dried her hands slowly.
"Most people," she said coolly, "don't get a choice."
Bianca nodded, eyes soft.
"Exactly."
Gerard intervened shortly after.
"We're done for today," he said firmly.
Bianca stepped back immediately.
"Of course," she said. "I'll finalize tomorrow's prep list and send it over."
She paused.
"And Chef?" Bianca added, voice lowering slightly. "If you ever feel overwhelmed… you don't have to carry it alone."
Hilary met her gaze—or where she believed it was.
"I don't," she replied. "I have my family."
Bianca smiled.
"So I see."
As Bianca walked away, her expression shifted—just enough.
Calculation replaced courtesy.
That evening, Hilary stood at the window, staring at the city lights she could still see but no longer trusted.
"She's competent," Hilary said.
"Yes," Gerard replied.
"And attentive."
"Yes."
Hilary exhaled.
"I don't like the way she helps," she admitted. "It feels… rehearsed."
Gerard stepped closer.
"I don't like the way she watches."
Hilary's fingers brushed the red ribbon Jessica had left on the table.
"Do you think I'm imagining it?" she asked.
"No," Gerard said without hesitation.
Hilary closed her eyes.
"Then we're not paranoid," she whispered.
"No," Gerard agreed. "We're cautious."
Down the hall, Bianca closed her notebook.
*Trust not established,* she wrote.
*Resistance present.*
*Child is primary anchor.*
She underlined the last line twice.
Then she smiled.
"Good," Bianca murmured. "I prefer a challenge."