The Last Bite
"Next!"
Charlotte Evans took a slow, steady breath before stepping forward. The scent of expensive cologne and polished marble filled the air, a stark contrast to the scent of butter and garlic that still clung to her chef's jacket. She felt the weight of every gaze in the room, the unspoken judgment simmering in their expressions.
At the head of the long, sleek glass table sat a panel of executives, their faces unreadable. But one face stood out—one she had spent years trying to forget.
Alexander Hayes.
Even now, after all this time, he was devastatingly handsome. Sharp jaw, piercing blue eyes, and an aura of quiet dominance that made the air feel too thick to breathe. He hadn't changed at all. But Charlotte?
Charlotte was unrecognizable.
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut when his gaze swept over her without a flicker of recognition.
He doesn't know who I am.
Her stomach twisted, a mix of relief and resentment churning inside her. Good. Let him sit there in his pristine suit, completely unaware of how much he had shaped the woman standing in front of him. Let him judge her, just like he did back then. But this time—this time, she wasn't here for him.
She forced a smile. "I'm Charlotte Evans, applying for the executive chef position."
A blonde woman in a sleek, tailored blazer arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "You?"
The single word dripped with disbelief, and Charlotte didn't miss the way her gaze skimmed over her body—taking in the way her once-glamorous curves had softened into something less desirable.
I know what you see. A woman too big for the designer chair provided, a woman whose past didn't match her present. But what they couldn't see—the fire that burned beneath her skin—that was what mattered.
Her fingers curled into her palm. "I have ten years of culinary experience," she continued, her voice steady. "And I guarantee my dishes will be the best you've ever tasted."
The blonde—whoever she was—exchanged a glance with the man seated beside her. The corners of her mouth curled in an almost amused smirk. "We'll be the judge of that. You have thirty minutes. Prepare your signature dish."
Fine.
Let the food do the talking.
Charlotte moved fast, blocking out the tension in the room. Her hands, steady from years of experience, worked with expert precision. The sizzle of butter hitting the pan, the scent of garlic blooming in the heat—it was second nature to her.
She knew how to build flavor. How to demand attention with food alone.
Garlic-butter seared steak, perfectly pink at the center. A tangy, vibrant chimichurri sauce, spooned artfully onto the plate. Each element designed to leave an impact.
When she stepped back, heart pounding, she met their stares head-on.
"Done."
For a moment, silence. Then the panel hesitantly reached for their forks. One bite. Then another. Their reactions were immediate.
Eyes widening. Postures shifting. Even Alexander.
For the briefest second, something flickered across his expression—recognition? No. Curiosity.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone. He placed his fork down and spoke.
"The dish is excellent."
Her chest swelled.
"But we can't hire you."
The words hit her like a slap to the face.
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
Alexander's voice was calm, detached. "This is a high-end brand. We have an image to uphold."
Image.
The blonde woman leaned in, voice laced with faux sympathy. "Customers expect our chefs to look… disciplined."
Charlotte's pulse roared in her ears. She had been rejected before—by men, by jobs, by life itself. But this?
This was war.
Her nails dug into her palm. "So, what? You're saying I'm too fat to cook?"
Silence.
They didn't answer. They didn't have to.
Charlotte took a slow breath. Then, without breaking eye contact with Alexander, she grabbed the plate in front of her, lifted it—
—and took a giant bite.
A gasp rippled through the room. Alexander's brows shot up.
She chewed slowly, deliberately, before swallowing. Then, licking a drop of chimichurri from her lips, she smiled.
"That's a damn shame." She set the plate down with a soft *clink*. "Because this? This is the best thing you'll never have."
Then she turned and walked out.
---
The Fall from Grace
Charlotte stormed down the crowded Manhattan sidewalk, ignoring the burn in her throat. It was fine. She was used to rejection.
But she wasn't used to humiliation.
She was still fuming when a shrill, familiar laugh cut through the noise.
"Wait… No way. Charlotte Evans?"
Charlotte froze.
Her stomach sank.
Turning, she locked eyes with Victoria Langley—a woman who had once been nothing more than a social climber desperately clawing her way up the ranks of New York's elite.
But now? Now, Victoria stood above her.
Dripping in designer labels, her diamond bracelet glinting under the city lights, she sipped an oat milk latte with a smirk.
"Oh my God," Victoria gasped, stepping closer. "I almost didn't recognize you. What happened? Did you… eat your mansion?"
Laughter exploded from the women flanking her.
Charlotte's jaw locked. "Victoria," she said flatly. "Still as charming as ever."
Victoria's lips curled in mock offense. "I mean, I'm just… shocked. I remember when you used to waltz around in your little designer dresses, acting like royalty. And now?" Her gaze dragged over Charlotte's figure. "You look like a walking Cheesecake Factory."
More laughter. Someone actually snorted.
Charlotte forced herself to breathe.
"You know," Victoria continued, voice sweet as poison, "it's kind of poetic. All those years you strutted around, thinking you were better than everyone else… and now, even the maids in our old circle wouldn't trade places with you."
That hit deep.
For a second, Charlotte felt it—the crushing weight of everything she had lost.
Then she smiled. A slow, dangerous smile.
"You're right, Victoria," she murmured. "I was a spoiled princess."
Victoria's smirk faltered.
Charlotte leaned in slightly. "But trust me, darling. When I come back? You'll remember me again."
She turned and walked away, heart pounding.
And then—
[Ding! Congratulations, host! You have activated the Slimming System!]
Charlotte froze.
A glowing blue screen hovered in front of her.
[Mission: Lose 5 pounds in 7 days! Reward: Advanced Ingredient Identification Skill!]
She stared at it. Then at the half-eaten bagel in her hand.
Her stomach growled.
"…Are you freaking kidding me?"