They say a critic's job is to look for cracks, flaws, the hidden quirks that make a story or meal memorable. And, believe me, I've perfected the art. But when I walked into Jack Sullivan's world-famous kitchen, I thought I'd find a little heat and a great story—not a personal vendetta simmering under layers of saffron and sage. Jack is bold, intense, and utterly captivating, but he's hiding a past that feels as tangled as the perfect plate of pasta. One minute, I'm in his kitchen, laughing at his bravado, and the next, I'm knee-deep in a mystery that's way spicier than anything I've tasted. And I can't decide if the thrill is worth risking everything I thought I knew about control, chemistry, and my job as a writer. Turns out, sometimes the most unforgettable stories are the ones you never meant to write. So, here I am, ready to uncover every last secret Jack's trying to hide—but only if I can survive the fire.