When I step inside, the kitchen hums with quiet activity. Knives move rhythmically against cutting boards, pots simmer gently, and the air carries the fragrant promise of spices. For a moment, I stand at the threshold, absorbing it all.

“Everything is ready, miss,” Renne says softly, handing me an apron.

I slip it over my dress, tying it neatly at the waist. The chefs exchange hesitant glances, unsure if they should hover or step aside.

I smile reassuringly. “Don't worry I ...