Recipe Index

My name is Mara Whitlock. I’m thirty-six, and for six days the world believed I died giving birth. At least that was the story they polished and passed around like crystal at a Charleston memorial. The official line was tragic, tasteful, and clean. Massive blood loss. A noble fight. A grieving husband. A devastated family….

My name is Saraphina Lockridge. I’m thirty-four years old, the youngest daughter in a family that treats birth order like law and affection like a line item. We come from old Portland money, the kind that buys silence, hosts charity galas, and hides rot behind polished doors and warm lighting. My siblings were shaped into…

My name is Rowena Mercer. I’m thirty-six, last in line in a bloodline of money, influence, and mistake-riddled legacies. My brother, Ransom, inherited the empire—real estate, silent partnerships, and a name that opened doors. I inherited silence and instinct. I fixed dead hard drives and recovered secrets people wished had stayed lost. Somewhere along the…

My name is Cassidy Lancing. I’m thirty-eight years old, the youngest daughter of a proud Michigan family known for steel, sweat, and secrets. While they smiled for press photos beside machines they never touched, I was the one in grease-stained boots rebuilding my grandfather’s legacy from the ground up. They saw me as the obedient…

My name is Marin Voss. I’m thirty-four, a molecular biologist with three degrees and four patents, none of which did a thing to protect me on the night my husband tried to erase me with a company email. I was born into one of those old Seattle families that believes power should be inherited like…

My name is Delaney Sutterfield. I’m thirty-five years old, and thirteen years ago my family pushed me out of their world with one duffel bag, a winter coat with a broken zipper, and the kind of certainty only rich people seem to possess when they’ve decided someone else is disposable. I came from old-money Austin,…

My name is Lydia Callahan. I’m thirty-four years old, and I was born into one of the wealthiest families in Providence, Rhode Island. The kind that donates wings to hospitals and forgets birthdays in the same breath. The kind that hangs framed black-and-white photos of dead senators in the hallway and keeps a little folded…