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.
a beat. “The true winner
lovable personality…” he sneers subtly, casting a
will be a skilled
message is clear, and the gleam in
cheeks as the crowd
to me, his eyes meeting mine. “Abby,
Tell us, what has
sea of
are fewer signs with my name now thanks to my
a hole in my
girl in the third row with her
eyes. Her eyes are just as wide and
in her tiny hand, a
the lump in my throat, but I push through…
here, even if I
I’m here for her.
my voice
a female chef in
have been here. To show that we—”
I can stand toe to toe with the
a breath, the air tasting thick. “And maybe, just maybe,”
will inspire others. That future female chefs will
our skills—and our
also respected.”
through the crowd, a murmur of
it’s just the sound of anticipation
results.
voice then cuts
is…” His eyes flick to the judges as
out of his
lock onto mine, his
smile, doesn’t even blink. Instead, his head gives
to tilt for what feels like the millionth time
champion, now looks
of
inclining toward me in a
a trick
I can’t look at
Instead, I find the little girl in the crowd, her eyes
her
winner is…” The pause hangs for
it out for
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