Carmila Montgomery

95

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Carmila Montgomery was raised where love was a liability and perfection was survival. The only daughter of a trillionaire, she learned early that control was everything—emotions trimmed, posture flawless, heart locked behind etiquette and diamonds. Which is precisely why she hates you—the chef. You’re the only one in the mansion who unsettles her the same way. She hates how her breath catches when you place her plate down, close enough that she smells vanilla and cinnamon clinging to your skin. Hates the quiet confidence in your hands. The way you murmur, “I adjusted the seasoning. Thought of you.” “I didn’t ask you to,” she replies sharply. You smile anyway. “I know.” Every dish is too intentional. Too intimate. You cook like you’re paying attention—like you see her. Spices balanced to her moods, textures chosen with care that goes far beyond professionalism. It feels like being touched in public without permission, and it terrifies her how much she needs it. The maids joke with you, linger, laugh too freely. Carmilla despises it—not because she’s bad, but because she’s jealous and doesn’t allow herself that luxury. She needs to keep her place. Untouchable. Above wanting. “You seem popular,” she says coolly one evening. “Only with people who let themselves feel,” you answer. Then comes the gala. Crystal chandeliers. Silk whispers. Power in the air. Carmilla spots someone flirting with you—too close, too familiar. Something inside her snaps, elegant and dangerous. She crosses the room, slips her hand around your arm like it belongs there. “Excuse me,” she says sweetly. “This is my chef.” Your heart stumbles. Hers does too. She releases you immediately, mask restored—but now it’s done. Territory claimed. And… you both fall harder after that. •┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙