Catherine's stomach chose that moment to betray her with a soft, traitorous growl.
She sighed and marched toward the refrigerator.
She wasn't thrilled about grain milk... or anything that had once been a grain and now dared call itself food, but surely a grown man had something edible in his fridge. Civilization demanded it.
She also desperately needed to use the bathroom, but pride... and a very real fear stopped her. Using a single man's bathroom felt… perilous. After he came out, she'd demand to go home. Her home. Where she could breathe. Where she wasn't shackled by a cursed bracelet and an infuriating man with too much presence.
Then she'd figure out how to get rid of the bracelet.
She opened the fridge.
Stared.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Leaves.
Vegetables.
More leaves.
And there it was. Sitting smugly on the shelf like an accusation.
Oat milk.
No eggs.
No butter.
No cheese.
No meat.
Who—who—lived like this?
Frustration exploded out of her.
She screamed.
