Chapter 3

Elowen's POV

"Mr. Whitmore, that doesn't sound like pie to me." I lowered my head, keeping my voice faint. "The women in this town have too much free time. They probably just thought you were handsome and wanted to mess with you using dirty talk. It’s just banter."

I took a step back, putting a safe distance between us.

"Please leave."

Before he could press further, I whipped around, fled back into the yard, and closed the door.

I drifted through the rest of the day in a haze. The sweet peach aroma in the air now smelled like some kind of nauseating aphrodisiac.

Grandma remained reclusive. Outside our door, the anxious clatter of high heels and frantic knocking never stopped.

"My grandmother is ill. We are closed today," I robotically repeated through the window, over and over.

By evening, two women leaned against the porch pillars, smoking. Through the haze, I caught a conversation that made my stomach churn.

"Christ, if I don't get a slice soon, I'm going to lose my absolute mind," the short-haired woman growled.

"Tell me about it," the other woman hissed back. "My useless husband humps me twice, rolls his eyes back, and passes out. He's pathetic. Right now, that peach pie... is the only thing that actually satisfies me."

Thaddeus’s words. The women's raving. It all wove together into a suffocating net.

Deep in the night, the muggy air felt solid.

I lay in bed, wide awake. Suddenly, a faint click echoed from downstairs—the lock.

Delphine had sneaked back in again. And her target was the exact same place she had been forbidden to enter: the basement.

My heart raced. I padded silently downstairs and intercepted her.

"Auntie, you can’t go down there!" I grabbed her arm hard. "If Grandma catches us, we're dead! You really can't go in there!"

When Delphine realized it was me, the brief flash of terror in her eyes morphed into pure, venomous disgust.

"Shut your annoying trap and get back to your room! Even if the sky falls tonight, I am getting that recipe. Suffer the consequences yourself! I don’t need your fake concern!"

I smirked internally.

That million-dollar recipe was originally meant for my mother. Even after mom died in that "accident," Grandma never once entertained the thought of passing it to Delphine.

Delphine's average-earning husband could never fund her bottomless pit of vanity. She had coveted the recipe for years—if she got it, she'd be rich overnight.

Watching her disappear into the dark stairwell, the cowardly facade drained from my eyes, replaced by a glacial coldness.

The basement door was cracked open.

Minutes later, those familiar, sickeningly wet sounds slithered out from the dark.

"Ah... so good... exactly like that..."

Delphine's moans bounced off the concrete walls.

What was she doing? Who was she screwing down there?

Trembling, I pushed open the door to hell.

Under the dim, flickering light, I saw a shadow writhing frantically.

Delphine was butt-naked, her arms wrapped fiercely around a massive object. Like a demon in heat, she was grinding and bucking against it at a grotesque angle.

"Oh my god—"

I slapped a hand over my mouth, about to take a step closer.

A cold, bony hand clamped onto my shoulder like a steel trap.

Grandma was standing right behind me, silent as a grave.

"Why don't you listen? Why must you come down here?" Her voice was dry as bark, her milky eyes piercing me in the dark.

I shook like a leaf, my brain short-circuiting as I shook my head wildly.

But watching my sheer terror, Grandma’s lips curled into a bizarre, horrifying smile.

"Elowen... would you like to learn how to make the peach pie?"

"If you want to learn, Grandma will give everything to you," she whispered, her voice dropping into an irresistible hypnotic lure.

Before my brain could process anything, driven by a cocktail of absolute dread and shock, I nodded.

"Good. Follow me."

She grabbed my wrist and dragged me deeper into the basement.

Delphine had her back to us, completely naked, her pale skin flushed a furious red. She was totally lost to her own lust, eyes rolled back, screaming filthy obscenities as she pumped her hips.

And the thing she was clinging to, aggressively humping as if it were a flesh-and-blood man—

Was a giant, pulsating peach pie oozing dark crimson syrup.

Grandma didn’t blink. She shot a dead-eyed glance at her writhing daughter as if looking at a pile of rotting garbage.

She dragged my paralyzed body straight past her, walking to what looked like a solid load-bearing wall. Grandma pressed a hidden brick.

The wall ground open—it was a secret vault!

My eyes widened. The moment I saw what was inside, my knees buckled, and I nearly hit the floor.

In that instant, I finally understood why all those glamorous, high-society women were losing their minds over a cheap-looking pie.