The Leading Chef

The kitchen's exhaust fan was still humming as I held a spoon, working with a few assistants on the new dish of tofu. Just as the porcelain spoon lifted a ladle of broth for tasting, the kitchen door swung open. Quincy Scott walked in, holding a man's hand. Quincy's gaze swept over everyone in the kitchen but completely ignored me, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Calvin Lincoln, starting today, the position of leading chef will be handed to Yale Shawn." "From now on, every matter in the kitchen will be under his command." She paused before finally looking at me, her tone utterly cold: "As for you, you'll be Yale Shawn's assistant." The spoon in my hand clattered against the stove, and the scalding broth splashed out, making me jerk my hand back in pain. The assistants nearby froze, their eyes all fixed on me—some surprised, some sympathetic, and others just in disbelief. After all, only last week I had won the city's award for the youngest state-level chef, and the Scott Restaurant's reputation today rests entirely on the signature dishes I've developed over these years. Quincy used me up and now just wants to cast me aside? Before I could even react, I saw Quincy link her arm with Yale Shawn's, her head gently resting on his shoulder, her voice soft enough to wring water from. "Yale, are you satisfied with this arrangement? I always knew you would definitely take the restaurant to a higher level." Yale Shawn raised his hand, his fingertips gently caressing Quincy Scott's cheek, his eyes full of affection yet with a hint of disdain when he looked at me. "Satisfied, of course I'm satisfied. With me here, I guarantee the Scott Restaurant's business will be ten times better than before." Quincy smiled so brightly her eyes nearly closed, then stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Yale Shawn's cheek. The entire kitchen fell into an eerie silence. Everyone was watching them flaunt their affection—no one dared to speak, myself included. It's not that I don't have a temper, but I used to think that since Quincy lost her father, she deserved some leniency from me. But now, in front of all these employees, she brazenly ignored our engagement, got close to another man, and even stripped me of my position. A surge of anger erupted in my chest. I strode over swiftly, grabbed Quincy's wrist, and yanked her away from Yale Shawn. "Quincy Scott, what exactly are you trying to do?" "You demoted me without even discussing it with me, but worse, you acted so close to him in front of everyone?" "We haven't even broken off our engagement, and you treat me like this—do you think that's fair?" Quincy was startled by the sudden anger in my voice, a flicker of panic flashing in her eyes. But just a second later, she forcefully shook my hand off and stepped back, putting distance between us as if I were something dirty. "Calvin Lincoln, you hurt me!" she frowned, her tone full of disdain. "What's wrong with me being with Yale? He's more capable than you and understands cooking better!" "I'm doing this for the restaurant's good, for the sake of all the staff!" I looked at her like that and suddenly laughed, laughing so hard it hurt my chest. Three years ago, when the Scott Restaurant was barely hanging on, Yale Shawn was nothing like the devoted man he is today. Back then, Yale was still Quincy Scott's boyfriend, yet he secretly copied the recipe for the restaurant's signature dish and sold it to a rival across the street. He took the money and left the country, never returning even when Mr. Scott was gravely ill. Mr. Scott's anxiety caused a stroke, and he passed away within half a month. Quincy held me and cried through the entire night. She said she would never trust Yale Shawn again, that from now on, she would only live a good life with me—and she even got engaged to me. At that time, I already had an acceptance letter from a prestigious culinary academy abroad, with a full scholarship. But seeing Quincy's eyes swollen and red from crying, I hid the letter and stayed on at the Scott Restaurant. I spent more than ten hours every day in the kitchen, experimenting with new dishes and refining the old. I visited countless restaurants across the city and managed to bring in a solid base of regular customers. Slowly, business at the Scott Restaurant improved, evolving from a small shop on the brink of collapse into a modestly well-known establishment. During this time, several large restaurants came looking for me, offering three times my current salary, but I turned them all down. I always believed Quincy needed me. We're engaged, and from now on, we're a family. I should stand by her and this restaurant. But now, she tells me that Yale Shawn is more capable than I am, and that what she's doing is for the good of the restaurant. I pointed at Yale Shawn, my voice trembling: "Quincy, have you forgotten how he treated you and the Scott Family three years ago?" "He stole the secret recipe, ran off with the money, and caused your father's death. And now you actually believe him?"