NOVEL NEXT CHAPTER 30: Who’s in the Kitchen?
POV ISABELLA
“How did he like the appetizer?” Isabella asked as she started plating the main course.
“Ms. Evanson, splendid as always,” replied the server who had just returned from the dining room.
Isabella Evanson usually thrived on her routine. As a private chef for high-end clients, she took immense pride in her work. Tonight’s dinner, set up in a wealthy client’s private dining room, was one she’d prepared countless times. The husband liked to surprise his wife with a romantic meal at home at least once a month.
Isabella was always called in to create the perfect evening. The meal was, as always, a success. But tonight, the satisfaction that usually followed such a compliment was missing.
It wasn’t that the food wasn’t good. The steak was perfectly seared, the sauce balanced, and the dessert a delicate work of art. But Isabella couldn’t help comparing the flicker of flames in her kitchen to the fire she felt when training at the SFB gym. The controlled heat of her stove paled in comparison to the intensity of combat—the clash of swords, the adrenaline rush, the sweat and grit. Her life in the kitchen suddenly felt so small, constrained by the walls that surrounded her.
Isabella had always been driven, but her motivations had shifted over time. Cooking had once been her entire world—a world she’d crafted with care and precision, a place where she had complete control. But now, that world felt like a gilded cage. The satisfaction of a perfectly executed dish couldn’t compare to the raw exhilaration she felt during a fight. The rush of combat awakened something deep inside her, something primal and fierce. She realized that she’d been using her culinary skills to keep herself distracted, to avoid facing the fact that she craved something more. *Something that involved risk, challenge, and the possibility of failure.*
After the meal, instead of savoring the success of another well-executed evening, Isabella felt restless. Something inside her was shifting, pulling her away from the life she had built. She needed to make a decision. *She needed to talk to God—not in the way most people did, but in her own way.* She headed to St. Anthony’s, a small, quiet church nearby.
In the stillness of the church, she sat alone, letting the silence wash over her. She wasn’t here to pray in the traditional sense but to reflect, to find clarity. As she sat there, the answer became clear: *she had been fooling herself, thinking she could just walk away from the life she had tasted at the gym.* The thrill of the fight was in her blood now, and there was no turning back.
***
The next morning, with a newfound determination, Isabella called Alicia. “Alicia, I want back in,” she said, her voice steady.
Alicia paused. “Isabella, I’m not sure… I’ll need to check with Atlas.”
Alicia found Atlas in the training area, overseeing a hilarious session in the mannequin room.
*Seriously, was there anything more fun than watching three trained fighters being stabbed in the face by a bouncy GAP mannequin castoff?*
The recruits were working hard, pushing themselves under Atlas’s watchful eye. He was definitely noticing—and chortling at—their failures.
“Hey, Atlas,” Alicia called out, catching his attention. “Isabella wants back in. What do you think?”
Atlas didn’t take his eyes off the training. “No,” he said firmly. “She couldn’t handle it before. She doesn’t have the guts.”
*With the rest of the rats leaving the ship, I’m down to ten on the fight team, and could really use Isabella. But remember, it’s about the portals and not the fight team. Seriously, it’s so easy to get sucked into thinking like a proper fight coach. PORTALS. Keep that in mind. I don’t need anyone who bails if there’s danger.* Atlas knew Alicia would understand if he explained his thoughts to her, but it definitely wasn’t time for that awkward chat yet.
Alicia wasn’t surprised by his response, but it didn’t sit right with her. She called Isabella back, relaying the news. “Sorry, Isabella. Atlas says there’s no spot for you right now.”
Isabella felt the sting of rejection, but she wasn’t ready to give up. “I get it,” she said, masking her disappointment. “But I can still work out at the gym, right?”
“Of course,” Alicia assured her.
That day, Isabella strapped on her swords, got on her motorcycle, and headed to the gym. She wasn’t going to let this setback stop her. For the next few days, she trained harder than ever, following the recruits, pushing herself, and refusing to be sidelined. She knew Atlas was watching, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
But Atlas was stubborn. He had seen enough people crack under pressure, and he wasn’t about to let someone back in who had already shown signs of weakness.
*Paul had died because of someone who couldn’t hack the pressure and ran instead of standing firm. Those demon dogs didn’t have any mercy on Paul. And no way would he let a potential weak link back in.*
He thought Isabella didn’t have what it took to survive the trials ahead either. She’d be fine in the arena, but that wasn’t what he was training them all for.
The next day, as Atlas stepped outside for a smoke,
*Damn you Canada and your weak-ass anti-smoking laws. Six feet from a doorway? Really? One thing you could say about the wasteland, there were no laws. Sure, it was infested with monsters and human scum, but what you could or couldn’t do was decided by how fast your swords were. And how willing you were to use them.*
Isabella was on the phone nearby, her voice sharp with anger.
“Charles, you motherfucker,” she spat, the venom in her voice catching Atlas’s attention. “You think you’re getting away with half of everything? You’re the one who betrayed me with my best friend. How fucking cliché. So cringy.
Your betrayal ripped a hole in my soul, and I hope this divorce rips a hole in your bank account. I could have forgiven a lot of things, but not betrayal. Anyone who betrays me can go burn in hell.”
Charles, on the other end of the line, was audibly flustered, his voice losing its earlier bravado. "Bella, listen, I—"
"Don’t you dare call me that!" Isabella snapped, cutting him off. "You lost the right to use that name the moment you decided to play out your little midlife crisis with my best friend. You want to talk assets? Let's talk about how you sold our marriage for a cheap thrill. How’s that for value?"
Charles stammered, trying to regain control of the conversation. "It wasn't like that, I—"
"Save it!" Isabella's voice was as cold as the steel she trained with. "You thought you could cheat on me and walk away unscathed? Newsflash, Charles. You underestimated me. I’m not just going to sit back and let you take what I worked for. I’m coming after every last penny, and trust me, you’ll be the one left begging when this is over."
Atlas listened, intrigued. *This wasn’t the Isabella he remembered. This was a woman with fire, with a resolve he hadn’t seen before. Maybe he had underestimated her.* He very much understood how she felt about betrayal, and that alone tempted him to allow her back. But he wasn’t ready to change his mind just yet. Crushing his cigarette underfoot, he walked back inside, leaving Isabella to her conversation.
Isabella had found her resolve. She knew now that the fight was far from over, and whether Atlas let her back in or not, she was determined to get back into training.
Atlas decided, *If she was still showing the same level of resolve in a few days, she might be allowed back in. Maybe.*
***
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