Karma Doesn’t Sleep: The Revenge Queen Rises novel Chapter 513

Amelia opened the door and realized she didn’t have any men’s slippers at home, so she handed Ryan a pair of shoe covers.

While Ryan bent down to slip them on, Amelia took the groceries he’d brought and carried them into the kitchen.

Timmy stood off to the side, arms folded, his little face serious as he eyed Ryan like he was sizing up an intruder.

“Uncle Ryan, are you staying for dinner tonight?” Timmy asked, voice a mix of curiosity and caution.

Ryan nodded. Even sitting, he was so much taller than Timmy. He reached into his bag and pulled out a rare chess manual, handing it over. “Last time I saw you, I didn’t bring a gift. Here, this one’s for you. See if you like it.”

Timmy’s eyes sparkled. He loved chess—loved diving into unsolved games and spending hours figuring out tricky moves. Ryan’s gift couldn’t have been more perfect.

But Timmy wasn’t about to be won over that easily. He hugged the book to his chest and said, “Thank you, but this is really expensive. I should ask Mom if it’s okay to keep it.”

He dashed into the kitchen to check with Amelia. She agreed it was a bit too much, but when she saw how much Timmy loved it, she smiled. “If you like it that much, keep it. Just make sure you thank Uncle Ryan, all right?”

Ryan had already come in, coat off, leaning against the door in a crisp white shirt and black pants, a small smirk at his lips. “No need to be so formal,” he said.

Timmy was already curled up on the sofa, completely absorbed in the book.

Amelia glanced at Ryan. “We’ve got juice and veggie smoothies in the fridge, or Coke. Want something to drink?”

Ryan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he moved, blue veins showing stark against his pale skin. His hands were big, strong, and elegant.

He picked up a kitchen knife, handling it like it was second nature. “Got an apron?” he asked, not missing a beat.

Even as he spoke, he was already expertly deboning and skinning a chicken thigh, looking more practiced than Amelia herself.

She caught herself staring. Ryan glanced over his shoulder with a half-smile. “What? Surprised? Didn’t think I could cook?”

Amelia hesitated, watching his profile. The kitchen lights were warm and soft, making his sharp features look almost gentle. Her voice was quiet but clear.

“I know you can cook. You’re really good at it.” She paused, then added honestly, “I saw you once—junior year, during winter break. You were working in a restaurant kitchen.”

That memory had stuck with her. It was New Year’s Eve, when everyone else was out with family, eating and laughing. The restaurant was packed with happy families.

After she and her grandpa visited her mom’s grave, they walked past the restaurant. Through the kitchen window, she saw Ryan at the stove. He wasn’t even twenty, working with people twice his age, almost lost in the noise and the haze of cooking oil.

Ryan just moved through it all, quiet and focused.

When someone called his name, he handed his spatula to someone else and hauled two huge trash bags out the back door.

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