A Caged Songbird's Escape: Into the Arms of a Predator novel Chapter 219

Elissa stiffened as she turned around, only to find Rowan leaning casually against the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on her.

He looked freshly showered—his short, inky hair still damp and falling haphazardly across his forehead. The usual sharpness in his features had softened, replaced by a relaxed, at-home air that made him look refreshingly approachable.

Elissa’s expression was all resignation. “You’re reading too much into it.”

Wait, no. She was the one overthinking things.

How could she have been naïve enough to believe that, after finally getting something to hold over her, Rowan would just let it go?

He glanced at her with a faint, teasing smile. “Not exactly thrilled to see me back, are you?”

“...That’s not true.” The words came out flat and unconvincing.

If Rowan noticed, he didn’t let on. Instead, he beckoned her over. “Then come eat.”

Elissa knew she didn’t really have a choice. With that agreement between them, she had even less say in front of Rowan than she ever did with Frank.

She changed her shoes and headed into the dining room, where four dishes and a steaming bowl of soup sat on the table. Her eyes sparkled with surprise as she glanced at Frank. “You made all this?”

Each dish was neatly plated—nothing like takeout or leftovers from a restaurant.

And after all, the breakfast he’d made the other morning—the nourishing soup and the perfect omelet—had been delicious. It wasn’t a stretch to believe he could cook.

But Rowan arched an eyebrow, dodging her question. “So, do you prefer men who can cook, or men who can’t?”

Elissa thought for a moment, then looked at him earnestly. “Do you want the truth?”

He fired right back, “Why wouldn’t I?”

She shrugged, relaxing a little. “Doesn’t really matter, honestly. If you like someone, even if they burn down the kitchen, you’d still think it’s charming.”

In other words, if you don’t care for the person, even if he’s a Michelin-starred chef, he’s still just a chef. All you’d offer is a polite, ‘Nice cooking.’

Rowan decided to be honest too. “Wasn’t me.”

“From a restaurant, then?”

“Sort of.”

Rowan told himself that once everything was settled, he’d bring her back—and make her omelets every morning.

But by the time he had finally put everything in order, Elissa had fallen for Frank. She was set on marrying Frank, and no one else.

Elissa paused, uncertain, as a strange sense of recognition flickered in her heart. But she’d never been one to dodge the truth. Tilting her head up, she met Rowan’s eyes. “So, that’s the only thing you learned to make?”

“That’s right,” he replied without a second’s hesitation, his tone light and teasing, half-joking, half-casual. “Just for you, princess. Are you flattered?”

“...”

Elissa could tell he was messing with her—if she took him seriously, he’d only mock her for it.

So she didn’t take the bait, just washed her hands and headed to the kitchen to grab plates and utensils for dinner.

Rowan pulled out a chair at the table, folding his arms across his chest. “There are clean plates in the dishwasher,” he reminded her.

Bent over, Elissa called back, “Got it.”