Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

Chapter 0236

Abby

The buzzer goes off, and the contestants place down their dishes, stepping back from their stations.

The room is alive with murmurs, excitement from the crowd as their eyes scan the three dishes on the

stage. The judges step down from their booth, their gazes inscrutable.

My hands tremble, still hovering over the tiramisu’s uneven surface— it’s a mocking reminder of the

chaos just moments before, but I could fix it, at least a little. Maybe no one would even notice.

My dish is not even close to perfect, far from the image I had in my head, and every fiber of my being

screams to adjust the messy dusting of pistachios just a little bit, just so I can make it look a tiny bit

more presentable.

But before my fingers can act, I catch Logan’s cold glare, halting me, his disapproval crystal clear. I

quickly pull my hands away, feeling my face turn what I can only imagine is the deepest shade of red

ever.

We all stand back, the stage now eerily quiet. The judges begin to make their rounds, and I can hear

them before I see them.

“Delicious,” Logan says, slowly chewing a bite of none other than Daniel’s tiramisu. “Truly delicious.

You’ve outdone yourself, Daniel.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Daniel says with a nod. His eyes flicker over to me, and I feel a twinge of

something bubbling inside of me, a fury that makes me want to lash out. Did Daniel switch my spices? I

wouldn’t put it past him.

The judges approach Bryan next. I can’t quite make out what they say this time, but their expressions

tell me that they like his dish. Vanessa rolls her eyes back as she tastes the mascarpone, a subtle “Oh

my god…” escaping her lips.

Shit. She loves it. And now, it’s just me left; me, with my ugly tiramisu. How can I even compare if they

love the others’ dishes so much?

“And the best for last.” Vanessa’s voice is sweet, almost too sweet, as she addresses me, pulling me

out of my pit of dread. “Hello, Abby.” Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

All I can do is offer a tense smile, nodding politely as Vanessa picks up a spoon and delicately lifts a bit

of the lumpy tiramisu to her mouth.

She chews thoughtfully, her eyes closing for a brief moment. Then, her expression shifts ever so

slightly.

I feel my blood run cold. It’s not a grimace, but it’s certainly not satisfaction either.

“Did you use any spices out of the ordinary, Abby?” she asks.

I feel the color drain from my face. “Just… Just nutmeg,” I reply, my voice quivering.

“Hm.” Vanessa’s hum is low and confused as she beckons Logan over with a tilt of her head.

Logan shoots me a look as he approaches. I brace myself, recalling the misplaced spices, the

unsettling suspicion of sabotage, the way the mascarpone clumped up when I added the ‘nutmeg’ to

the mixture.

I almost want to curse out loud; I should have checked it just to be safe, but I was running out of time.

Logan slowly takes a spoonful. His eyes, a stormy gray color, never leave mine as he tastes the dish.

“That’s cardamom,” he states flatly, putting the spoon down with a clatter, his face twisting into a scowl.

“Not nutmeg.”

My stomach churns, a sour taste suddenly taking over my mouth. “I—I must have grabbed the wrong

spice,” I stammer, though the explanation sounds feeble even to my own ears.

Logan’s gaze is unsympathetic, and his words cut deeper than I expected. “It’s clear you didn’t put as

much effort into this dish. I expected more from you, Abby,” he says coldly.

I feel like I’m shrinking. It’s not possible; it can’t be possible. I know my spices.

“It… It can’t be,” I find myself blurting out before I can stop myself.

With a scowl, Logan holds up a clean spoon for me. “Here. Try for yourself.”

With shaking hands, I tentatively take the spoon and dig it into the tiramisu as the weight of everyone’s

eyes fall on me. It’s all I can do to even get the spoon to my mouth without collapsing, and when I do,

my gut wrenches.

Logan is right. It’s not nutmeg. Not even close.

My heart races, threatening to burst from my chest, but I can’t just stand here and not defend myself.

“My station was sabotaged,” I blurt out. “Someone switched my ingredients. They were all in the wrong

containers.”

The judges’ eyebrows all seem to arch in unison.

“Sabotaged?” Logan repeats the word as if it tastes sour on his tongue. “It isn't a good look for a

contestant to be accusing others of tampering with her station.”

My resolve begins to crumble, but I can’t let go of the truth. “But it’s not an accusation if it’s true,” I

counter, desperate for him to understand, to see the sincerity in my eyes.

Shame, hot and prickly, spreads across my cheeks. “I—I do know the difference,” I stammer, my voice

a mere whisper now. “It was just… the heat of the moment, the pressure…”

Logan’s expression is full of disdain. “Excuses,” he cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “In this kitchen,

we take responsibility for our dishes.”

I want to argue, to fight, to scream that I am not at fault. But the steel in his gaze silences me. My

shoulders slump, and I mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“And that,” the announcer says, his voice a little hoarse from the tense moment, “is the end of round

two. After another intermission, we will be announcing the winners…” Coոtent beloոgs to

Draмąnоvеls.cоm

Suddenly, Karl’s hand on my shoulder pulls me out of my reverie. His voice is soft, and his face comes

into view, his eyes full of concern.

“C’mon, Abby,” he murmurs, and I blink, staring up at him incredulously. “Fifteen minute intermission.

Let’s take a break.”

I glance up to see that the crowd has begun moving again, the producers jogging back and forth across

the stage, the contestants making their way to the back. And among them, I see him.

Daniel, his eyes narrowed, his face a smirk. He smiles at me for a beat too long before he turns on his

heel and disappears behind the curtain.

And I’m left here, frozen to my spot, feeling like the world’s biggest failure.