Married Before Midnight by Sienna Quinn - Chapter 25

[adminnovelsaudio]

Listen Audiobook Version:



Married Before Midnight


Chapter 25: The Perfect Imperfection


The clock ticked mercilessly toward the deadline, and Hannah Carter’s mind raced as she stared at the sample cake Raymond DeLuca had provided. Every millimeter of its design was precise, every angle sharp—an obsession with symmetry that bordered on madness. This is impossible. The thought struck her like lightning.


No human hand could replicate perfection so exactingly, not without a single flaw. And Raymond DeLuca would notice. He would always notice. Then, the idea came—brilliant and reckless. "We don’t make multiple cakes," Hannah said, turning to her mother, Eleanor, who was kneading dough with tense fingers. "We make one. One perfect cake, but not just in looks—in taste. A cake that changes with the time of day." Eleanor paused, flour dusting her wrists. "What do you mean?" Hannah’s eyes gleamed. "A cake that tastes different in the morning, at noon, and at night.


A bite at dawn should wake you up, a slice at lunch should warm you, and a piece at dinner should soothe you. Three layers, three experiences—one masterpiece." Silence settled over the kitchen before Olivia, wiping her hands on her apron, broke it with a slow smile. "That’s insane. And genius." The Carter sisters and Lucas worked through the night, measuring, tasting, adjusting.


Charlotte folded citrus zest into the morning layer for brightness, Lillian infused the noon tier with spiced honey, and Emily brushed the evening portion with lavender syrup for calm. Eleanor, her hands steady despite the exhaustion, assembled it all, her baker’s instincts guiding her. By sunrise, the cake stood complete—a work of art, glazed to a mirror shine, its layers hidden beneath flawless fondant. Eleanor dressed carefully, smoothing her best dress, her fingers trembling only slightly as she lifted the box. "This has to work," she whispered. Hannah squeezed her shoulder. "It will." But fate had other plans. The streets of Maplewood were usually predictable, but today, chaos reigned. A collision—two drivers arguing over inches of space—gridlocked the road. Eleanor’s taxi lurched to a halt, the clock ticking past 8:15. Panic clawed at her throat.


Raymond DeLuca does not tolerate lateness. Not even by a second. She paid the driver, clutched the cake box, and ran. Then—impact. A shoulder slammed into her, the box tumbling from her hands. It hit the pavement with a sickening crunch. Eleanor’s heart stopped. She looked up into the smirking face of Brenda Miller, her rival from Sweet Haven Bakery, before the woman melted into the crowd. The box lay dented, the cake inside surely ruined. Eleanor’s hands shook as she lifted it. The fondant was cracked, the edges smudged. Perfectly imperfect. And the clock read 8:25. Five minutes. She had two minutes to present a flawed cake to a man who worshipped precision. But maybe—just maybe—perfection wasn’t in the appearance. Maybe it was in the taste. Gritting her teeth, Eleanor straightened her spine and ran toward The Grand Astoria.