Abby
The stage lights feel even more blinding now from the tears in my eyes. A
makeup artist darts around, dabbing my face with powder to cover the streaks
from crying. In more ways than one, I’m glad this hell is almost over; right now,
I’m just looking forward to getting this damn makeup off.
Finally, the director counts down from three, and it feels as though we’ve done
this a million times before. The crowd cheers, the music plays, the announcer
struts across the stage. And me? I’m standing here like a statue, my smile just
as fake as my manicured eyelashes.
Enter title…
Daniel stands next to me, shoulder to shoulder, and I can feel the hatred
emanating off of him. He stands tall and proud, the perfect picture of arrogance.
He doesn’t say a word to me, because he doesn’t need to. He already said
everything he needed to say earlier. He got his digs in, made his sharp words
stab me to my core. There’s no point now.
I can sense the satisfaction coursing through his veins as he stands beside me,
the realization that he won—not just in the competition, but in life—washing over
both of us. In just a few minutes, he’ll get exactly what he wants. Not only a
trophy, but to beat a woman down to nothing.
The announcer turns to Daniel first, his voice echoing across the studio. “Daniel,
you’ve shown immense skill throughout this competition. As we come to a close,
how are you feeling about your performance?”
Daniel’s lips twist into a smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his
eyes.
without skipping a beat. “The
than just a lovable personality…” he sneers subtly, casting a
at me. “He will
is clear, and the gleam in his
cheeks as
to me, his eyes meeting mine. “Abby, you’ve
us, what has this experience meant to
sea of faces that seem
name
leaves a hole in my
is—the little girl in the third row with her chef’s hat falling
as wide and bright as ever, and she still
sign in her tiny hand,
throat, but I push through… because
even if I don’t
I’m here for her.
voice surprisingly steady,
chef in this
To show that we—” I pause, my
can stand toe to toe
a breath, the air tasting thick. “And maybe, just maybe,” I
inspire others. That future female chefs will push
skills—and our voices—are not only recognized,
also respected.”
through the crowd, a murmur of acknowledgment,
sound of
results.
announcer’s voice then cuts through
His eyes flick to the judges as he pulls
out of his
Logan’s eyes lock onto
smile, doesn’t even blink. Instead,
world seems to tilt for what feels like the
my champion, now looks on with a cool
briefest of
her head inclining toward me in a nod so slight
been a trick
are trembling. I can’t look at Daniel, can’t afford
the little girl in
from her innocence,
pause hangs for what feels like
out for
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