Charlotte adjusted the camera, her hands steady despite the rapid pounding of her heart.
"Alright, guys," she said, forcing a confident smile. "Today, we're making something special—guilt-free chocolate brownies. Yes, you heard that right. A rich, fudgy brownie that won't ruin your diet."
She held up a bowl of mashed avocado. "The secret? No butter. Instead, we use this."
The chat was already buzzing.
—"Avocado?? In brownies?? Girl, you crazy."
—"This better not taste like a damn salad."
—"Shut up and let her cook!"
—"I'm skeptical but intrigued. Can't wait to see how this turns out."
—"If these brownies are even half as good as they look, I'm sold."
—"Charlotte, you're a genius! I never thought I'd see the day when healthy and chocolate go together."
Charlotte laughed. The nervous tension in her chest began to ease. Maybe this wouldn't be a total disaster.
Little did she know, across town, her family was watching.
### Evans Family Reactions
Margaret Evans clutched her phone, her expression a mix of concern and disbelief.
"She's really doing this…" she murmured.
James, her eldest son, sat beside her on the couch, arms crossed. "Yeah. Question is—how long until she gives up?"
Margaret shot him a look. "James."
"I'm just being realistic, Mom. She's never stuck with anything for long. She gets excited, jumps in, and when things get tough, she bails."
Their father, William Evans, exhaled a deep chuckle from his armchair. "Now, now. Give her some credit. She's got fire in her. She always has."
Margaret turned to him, concern deepening. "William, don't you think this is too much? She's putting herself out there for the whole world to see. You know how brutal people can be online."
William set down his book and met her gaze with a calm smile. "She's strong, Maggie. Stronger than you think."
Margaret sighed, still uneasy. "I just… I worry about her being alone in New York."
"She's not alone," William reassured her. "She has Olivia."
Margaret chewed her lip, still unconvinced. Then an idea struck her.
"I could call Eleanor," she said, glancing at William.
James groaned. "Oh, come on, Mom."
Margaret ignored him. "Eleanor Hastings is still in New York. If I ask her to check on Charlotte—discreetly—at least I'll know someone's looking out for her."
William chuckled. "Ah, Eleanor. You two were inseparable in college. What's the bet she already knows about Charlotte's videos?"
Margaret huffed. "That woman keeps up with everything."
James rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He might not have believed in Charlotte's ability to stick with this, but he knew better than to underestimate the protectiveness of their mother .
### Alexander's Frustration
Meanwhile, Alexander Hastings sat in his sleek, high-rise office, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the conference table.
"Expanding our brand presence," one of his executives was saying. "We've been considering hosting a high-profile culinary competition. Celebrity chefs, up-and-coming talents. It's a strategic move to reinforce our dominance in the luxury dining space."
Alexander nodded, mildly interested. "And?"
"We've been analyzing trends, and surprisingly, healthy eating is dominating online food content. The way people view 'gourmet' is shifting. They don't just want indulgence anymore; they want balance."
Another executive leaned forward. "Actually, an interesting case study is that viral account—Charlotte Evans' weight-loss cooking channel."
Alexander's fingers stilled.
"You mean the former Evans heiress?" someone asked.
"Yes," the executive continued. "She's gained significant traction in a short time. Her videos make healthy food look indulgent, which resonates with audiences who want luxury dining without guilt."
Alexander's jaw clenched.
"She even did a healthy twist on a classic dessert—chocolate brownies. It went viral overnight."
Something in Alexander's chest tightened.
Chocolate brownies.
His childhood favorite.
His mother used to make them with a secret recipe, one that she later taught to—
His thoughts slammed to a halt.
No.
He shouldn't even be thinking about this.
And yet, when the meeting ended and he was back in his office, his fingers moved on their own. He pulled out his phone and searched for her latest video.
There she was, smiling at the camera, explaining how avocado made brownies moist without butter.
For a second, he didn't see the grown woman in the video.
He saw the little girl who used to sit in his mother's kitchen, legs swinging as she watched with wide-eyed fascination.
"Lex, look! Your mom is teaching me how to bake brownies! One day, I'll make them for you every day!"
Alexander had been ten, Charlotte only seven. His mother, Eleanor Hastings, had laughed, passing Charlotte the wooden spoon.
"Then you better learn to do it right, sweetheart. Lex is very picky about his brownies."
"I'm not picky," Alexander had grumbled, watching the tiny girl eagerly mix the batter with too much enthusiasm, flour dusting her nose.
"You totally are!" Charlotte had giggled. "But it's okay, 'cause I'm gonna be the best baker ever!"
His mother had smiled, ruffling Charlotte's hair before turning to him. "You know, Lex, if you're not careful, this one will grow up and bake her way right into your heart."
His mother had chuckled. "Maggie and I did always joke that our kids should end up together."
Alexander had rolled his eyes. "Gross."
Charlotte had simply grinned. "Well, I don't think it's gross! I think it's perfect!"
The memory faded.
Alexander exhaled sharply, shutting off the video.
Ridiculous.
His mother and Margaret had been best friends since childhood. They had gone to school together, gotten married around the same time. They had even joked about their children growing up together—how Charlotte would make the perfect bride for him.
Maybe that was why she had always followed him around when they were kids.
Back then, she was cute—wide-eyed, full of laughter, always eager to learn.
Before she became the spoiled, materialistic socialite he had rejected.
And now, here she was, popping up in his life again.
No. Not just popping up.
She was everywhere.
Alexander tossed his phone onto the desk and leaned back, running a hand through his hair.
This needed to stop.
But deep down, he had a nagging suspicion that it wouldn't.
### Bittersweet Aftertaste
Charlotte leaned against the kitchen counter, licking a bit of melted chocolate from her thumb as the brownies cooled on the rack. The smell of cocoa and vanilla filled the air, warm and nostalgic.
She let out a slow breath, staring at the freshly baked treats. It had been years since she'd made brownies like this—years since she'd cared to.
Funny.
She used to think she'd bake these for someone special every day.
For him.
The memory came unbidden, hitting her like a slow, aching wave.
She had spent years chasing after a version of Alexander that no longer existed—or maybe, one that had never truly been real in the first place.
Back then, she had been so sure of their future. Their mothers had always joked about it—how Charlotte would grow up to be Alexander's bride, how they were meant to be together. As kids, she had clung to those words like an unshakable truth.
"One day, when you marry Alex, you'll have to learn all his favorite dishes," her mother had teased once, ruffling her hair as Charlotte sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging.
"But I already know them!" she had declared proudly. "Mama Hastings makes the best brownies, and Alex says they're his favorite!"
Back then, it had been so simple. So easy.
Alexander had been different then. Less cold, less untouchable. She could still remember the way he used to smirk at her when she got chocolate on her nose, the way he used to steal bites from her plate when he thought she wasn't looking.
But time had changed them.
Somewhere along the way, he had become someone distant, untouchable.
She had been sixteen, practically glowing with excitement, carefully packaging the brownies in a pristine white box with a navy-blue ribbon—his favorite color. It was Valentine's Day. And though Alexander Hastings wasn't the type to care about sentimental nonsense, she was convinced that deep down, he'd appreciate something she made with her own hands.
"I made these for you," she had said, practically bouncing on her toes as she handed him the box.
He had barely looked at it.
"What is it?"
"Brownies! Just like the ones your mom used to make. I even used her recipe—well, mostly. I added a little twist of my own, but I know you'll love them!"
She had expected at least a small smile. A flicker of appreciation.
Instead, his expression had been cold. Detached.
"Charlotte… I don't eat this kind of thing anymore."
Her heart had wobbled, but she had forced herself to laugh. "Oh, come on. You used to love them!"
His lips pressed into a thin line. "That was a long time ago. I don't like sweets anymore."
The words had landed like a slap.
She had opened her mouth, wanting to say but I made these for you, but I thought you'd be happy, but we used to—
But she hadn't.
Because in that moment, she realized something.
They weren't kids anymore.
And whatever childish dreams she had about being the girl who would always be by his side… were just that. Dreams.
Charlotte shook herself from the memory, her chest tightening.
That had been the beginning of the distance between them.
Maybe even the beginning of her foolish desperation—the years she had spent trying too hard to impress him, to make him look at her the way she wanted him to.
And yet, despite everything, here she was.
Still making brownies.
A bitter smile curved her lips.
"Guess I never learned my lesson, huh?" she murmured to herself.
But this time, they weren't for him.
This time, they were for her.