“At first, everything extra felt like a reward,” I go on. “Extra shifts. Extra responsibility. Late nights where it was just the two of us in the kitchen, music low, burners still warm. He’d stand too close, brush past me, correct my posture with his hands.” I swallow. “If I pulled away, he’d act offended. Like I’d hurt him.”
Caleb’s fingers curl against his forearm.
“And if I leaned in,” I say, barely above a whisper, “he’d smile. Like I’d passed a test.”
“That’s not consent,” Caleb says sharply.
I glance up, startled by the edge in his tone.
He exhales, clearly reining himself back in. “Sorry. Keep going.”
I do.
“When things crossed the line, really crossed it, I told myself it was mutual. That I chose it. Because that was easier than admitting how uneven it was. He was famous. Untouchable. And I was… replaceable.”
“You weren’t,” Caleb says.
“To him?” I shake my head. “I was talent. Until I wasn’t convenient anymore.”
I take a breath, steadier now that I’ve started.
“He hated it when I questioned him,” I say. “If I asked why we were doing something a certain way, he’d go cold. Wouldn’t yell, he was smarter than that. He’d just withdraw. Stop praising me. Stop including me. And I’d panic.”
Caleb’s brow furrows. “Because your job depended on his approval.”
“And my identity,” I admit. “I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d wrapped around that kitchen. Around him.”
I laugh softly, humorless. “Once, during service, he changed one of my dishes without telling me. Served it under his name. When I asked him about it later, he told me I was ‘too sensitive’ and that it was ‘how the industry works.’”
“That would’ve pissed me off,” Caleb mutters.
“It did,” I say. “But somehow I still ended up apologizing. For causing tension. For making things awkward.”
His jaw tightens again, harder this time.
“And when things ended?” he asks carefully.
“That’s when the story changed,” I reply. “Suddenly, I wasn’t his protégée. I was unstable. Obsessive. A distraction.” My throat tightens. “He never said I stalked him. He just… let other people say it. Never corrected them.”
Caleb’s hands drop to his sides, fists clenched now. “Coward.”
The word comes out low and vicious.
I flinch, not from him, but from how accurate it feels.
“He implied I couldn’t handle rejection,” I continue. “That I’d misread everything. That my ambition had turned into fixation.” My eyes burn. “He told people I ‘wanted more than he could give.’ All while he was in the middle of a divorce he hadn’tfinalized—or made public. An affair with me would’ve looked bad for him. So it was easier to blame me.”
Caleb turns away abruptly, scrubbing a hand over his face.
I think he’s going to walk out.
Instead, he plants his hands on the counter, shoulders tight, breath measured.
“I want to put him through a wall,” he growls. “Just once.”
“You don’t have to fix it,” I say quickly. “I don’t need rescuing.”
He looks back at me then, eyes fierce but controlled. “I know. That’s why it makes me mad.”
