The Leading Chef
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?"
Yale Shawn approached, putting his arm protectively around Quincy Scott, looking down at me with pure disdain in his eyes.
"Calvin Lincoln, watch your tone. There were misunderstandings back then."
"Besides, you should be gentle with women. Don't act like a brute. No wonder Quincy doesn't like you."
As he said this, he deliberately tightened his grip around Quincy's waist, glaring at me with a challenging smirk.
Quincy, hiding behind Yale, nodded slightly and gave me a colder look: "Yes, Yale had his reasons back then. Stop clinging to the past."
"Besides, he trained in authentic Western cuisine overseas and even won an international award. He's far better than you."
I could hardly believe my ears. I glanced around at the kitchen assistants, hoping someone would step up and say something fair.
But they either kept their heads down or shot Yale Shawn admiring looks, and no one dared to challenge Quincy Scott.
After all, Yale Shawn is a 'returnee chef' and an international award winner. To them, anyone who studied abroad is automatically better than those trained locally.
Only Chef Clark, the veteran who's worked at the Scott Restaurant for twenty years, stood up.
Chef Clark still held the wok spatula, his knuckles white from gripping it tightly, his voice a little hoarse: "Quincy, you can't be this blind."
"Calvin gave up the chance to go abroad for this restaurant, working himself to exhaustion every day. How can you say that?"
"And Yale Shawn—everyone in the kitchen knows what he did back then. Now you're bringing him back and demoting Calvin. That’s not fair."
Quincy's face flushed instantly—not from embarrassment, but from anger.
"Chef Clark, this isn't your business! You're just an employee. Just focus on cooking your own dishes and don't interfere!"
Yale Shawn spoke up, his tone dripping with threat: "Old man, know your place. Quincy owns this restaurant. If she wants someone as the leading chef, then that's a deal."
"If you're unhappy, you're free to resign and leave. There are plenty of people looking for work. We don't need someone like you."
Chef Clark's hands trembled with fury, and just as he was about to speak again, I held him back.
They only see themselves and never acknowledge anyone else's hard work.
I looked at Quincy and asked her one last time, "Quincy Scott, tell me—have you ever loved me, even for a single day, all these years?"
I remember when her father had just passed away, she was afraid of the dark and needed me by her side every night.
I remember when she was sick, I stayed by her bedside, making porridge for three days without rest.
I remember she once said she would never marry anyone but me, and that we would run the restaurant together.
Those scenes kept replaying in my mind. How I wished she could say just one word, "I loved you," even if it was a lie.
But Quincy didn't even hesitate; she shook her head firmly and said, "No, I never loved you."
"I only got engaged to you because I was desperate back then and needed someone to support the restaurant."
"Now that Yale is back, of course I'm going to be with him. You should stop clinging to me."
That sentence was like a knife stabbing straight into my heart.
I looked at her and suddenly laughed—a laugh so bitter it almost brought tears to my eyes.
So all these years of my hard work, in her eyes, were just 'a last resort to be used when there's nowhere else to turn.'
Yale Shawn smirked triumphantly and slammed his hand down on my shoulder, heavy with humiliation: "Did you hear that? Quincy loves me, not you."
"Be smart and obediently take the assistant role, or else you won't even be allowed to stay in this kitchen."
As he spoke, he suddenly reached out to grab the badge on my chest—that was the one the judges personally pinned on me last week when I became the youngest state-level chef.
"That badge belongs to me now. You're no longer the leading chef, so it's not right for you to wear it."
Looking at his expression, I couldn't hold back any longer. I snatched the badge back, clenched my fist, and slammed it straight into his face.
Yale Shawn was caught off guard and staggered back two steps, blood instantly streaming from his nose.
"You dare hit me?" Yale wiped the blood from his nose, his eyes bloodshot, and lunged at me, ready to fight.
I didn't dodge either; we wrestled, knocking pots and pans all around the kitchen, making a loud, jarring noise.
Quincy Scott, seeing us fight, screamed in panic and rushed over to break it up, deliberately targeting my arms and back.
"Calvin Lincoln, stop! If you hit Yale again, I'll fire you!"
"Are you out of your mind? If Yale gets hurt, who'll run the kitchen?"
I ignored her and kept grabbing Yale Shawn's collar, my fist ready to smash into his face.
But just then, Quincy suddenly spun around, grabbed a pressure cooker off the stove, and swung it at my head.
By the time I heard the rush of air, it was already too late to dodge.
The bottom of the pressure cooker slammed heavily onto my forehead, sending a sharp pain shooting through me, and my vision went dark for a moment.
Blood trickled down my forehead, dripping onto the white chef's uniform, spreading into a small, glaring red stain.
I released Yale Shawn, clutching my forehead as I stepped back. Looking at Quincy Scott, my heart felt like it was being crushed.
She actually dealt me such a heavy blow—all for Yale Shawn.
If I hadn't tilted my head just now, this hit might have seriously injured me.
Yale Shawn saw I was hurt and immediately stopped. He looked at me with a smug smile, then reached over to put his arm around Quincy Scott's shoulder: "Quincy, don't stoop to his level. He's not worth it."
But Quincy wasn't done; still angry, she grabbed the hot water kettle from the table and was about to pour it on me.
"Calvin Lincoln, get out of here! I never want to see you again!"
I reacted fast, dodging just in time. The hot water splashed onto the floor with a sizzling sound, sending up a cloud of white steam.
Watching the water stain spreading on the floor, a cold sweat broke out on my back.
If this pot of boiling water were poured on me, I'd definitely get burned—maybe even disfigured.
"Quincy Scott, you're truly ruthless."
I pressed my hand to my forehead, blood still flowing and dripping through my fingers. "I've given so much for you, for this restaurant, and this is how you repay me?"
"Without me, this restaurant would have gone under three years ago. Do you really think you'd be able to run it as the boss now?"
Quincy's face remained cold, as if my words were nothing but nonsense: "I never asked you to sacrifice yourself for me—that was your own choice."
"Besides, what happened back then is over. Stop dredging it up all the time. Yale will help me run the restaurant even better—one hundred times better than when you were in charge.”
Chef Clark quickly came over, pulled a tissue from his pocket, and wiped the blood off my forehead, his voice full of concern: "Calvin, are you okay? Do you want to go to the hospital?"
"Quincy, you've gone too far! Calvin is your life-saver—how can you treat him like this!"
Quincy Scott glared at Chef Clark and snapped even more sharply, "Chef Clark, if you keep defending him, you're out too!"
"This is the Scott Family's restaurant. I'm in charge here! If anyone's unhappy, pack up and leave!"
Everyone in the kitchen kept their heads down; no one dared to speak.
They were afraid of losing their jobs and could only watch helplessly as I was bullied, watching Quincy act so unfairly.
I took a deep breath, swallowing the anger and pain inside me, looked at Quincy, and said calmly, "Fine, I'll leave."
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