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Where Petals of Vengeance Bloom novel Chapter 307

Maybe it was the argument the night before, or maybe it was finally letting go of the resentment she’d carried for years—whatever the reason, Claire slept better that night than she had in nearly eight years. She drifted off easily, not even a dream disturbing her rest.

Dawn was just barely breaking when Claire woke, feeling lighter than she had in ages.

After a quick wash, she made her way downstairs, her steps brisk and almost buoyant.

The moment she entered the kitchen, Claire spotted May bustling about, an apron tied around her waist.

Hearing footsteps, May turned and, catching sight of Claire, looked genuinely surprised. “Goodness, Claire, you’re up so early! Are you hungry? Let me whip something up for you.”

Claire shook her head. “I’m not hungry, May. I just wanted to make breakfast myself—for Mr. Foster and Grandma. I feel like it’s the least I can do while I’m staying here.”

May laughed, waving her off. “Oh, there’s no need for that! I’ll have breakfast ready in no time. Go on, the kitchen is all smoke and grease.”

With that, May tried to usher her out, but Claire clung to her arm, grinning playfully. “Please, May? Mr. Foster and Grandma have both been so kind to me. Making them breakfast is the only way I know to show my appreciation.”

She leaned her head against May’s shoulder, her voice soft and affectionate. “Will you teach me how to make that simple noodle breakfast? Yours is always the best—I’d love to learn from you.”

May’s heart melted at her request. “All right, all right. I’ll show you. I’m sure Mr. Foster will be warmed right through when he tastes your cooking.”

Claire’s cheeks flushed. “I knew you’d say yes. You’re the best, May.”

With her spirits high and May’s pride glowing, the two of them set to work in the kitchen.

Half an hour later, five steaming bowls of homemade noodles were ready—each one perfectly arranged in a white porcelain bowl, topped with a golden fried egg, sprinkled with fresh green onions and parsley, and finished with just a touch of aromatic oil. The sight alone was enough to make anyone’s mouth water.

The three older women showered Claire with compliments, lifting her up with every word.

Blushing, Claire tried to deflect their praise. “Grandma, Grace, please try them and let me know if you like them. If you do, I’ll make breakfast for you all the time.”

She beckoned them over, then glanced at Sean, her eyes full of hope. “Mr. Foster, you too—you have to try it.”

Sean’s gaze lingered on the little sprinkle of parsley in his bowl. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing—just sat down and picked up his fork.

Claire watched, a mixture of anticipation and nerves fluttering in her chest.

The strong flavor of parsley hit Sean as soon as he took a bite. Usually so composed, his face stiffened just a bit, but he forced down the mouthful and managed a smile as he said:

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