When I was a trust fund baby, I kept Silas as my plaything. I forced him into submission every day, finding new ways to humiliate him. If he refused, I threatened to cut off his grandmother's hospital funding. Later, my family went bankrupt. Unable to bear the cold shoulders of fair-weather friends, I left town without a word. Years later, I became a line cook. In the private dining room of a five-star hotel, I ran into the now-infamous CEO, Silas Vance. That night, mimicking my old demeanor, Silas threatened me with my job and tapped my cheek with a black card. "Come on. Start kissing from here and go down." "Don't stop until I'm satisfied." 01 "Caleb, get over here." The manager appeared in the kitchen, calling my name. I put down the ladle, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and walked toward the door. "Manager Sutton, what's wrong?" Sutton looked me up and down. "The ravioli for the Golden Suite tonight... you made it?" I paused for a second, then nodded. "Did it not suit the guest's taste?" In an instant, my heart jumped to my throat. Before the shift started, Sutton had warned us repeatedly that the guests in the Golden Suite tonight were VIPs. One of them had a notoriously difficult palate. Not only difficult, but peculiar. No matter where he ate, no matter how high-end the restaurant, he always ordered a bowl of handmade ravioli. If he liked it, the bonus was substantial. If he didn't, jobs were on the line. Because of this, when Sutton ordered the ravioli to be made, the entire kitchen staff went silent. No one wanted to put a target on their back. At that moment, I—the one everyone least expected—stepped up. The reason was simple. I needed to pay next quarter's rent. And there was my sister's kidney dialysis fees. Five hundred dollars a session, twelve times a month. That amount was a fortune to the current me. So, while everyone else held back, I bit the bullet and volunteered. Worst case scenario, it couldn't get much worse than my current life. But I wasn't going in blind. I had been a picky eater since childhood. Before the bankruptcy, I turned my nose up at delicacies from land and sea. Only the ravioli made by that person had ever captivated me. So much so that when I found out my dad went bankrupt, my first thought was to find him. To ask him to teach me how to make them. I had no choice. He had spoiled my palate. I was afraid that in the future, I’d be so pathetic I couldn't even eat a decent meal. Over the years, I had perfected that recipe. But seeing Sutton’s furrowed brow, I broke out in a cold sweat. Was there someone in this world pickier than I used to be? A few colleagues who despised me started sneering from the sidelines. "See that? That's what happens when you overestimate yourself. The pros didn't dare take the job, but this halfway-decent cook wanted the spotlight. Hah, served him right." "I've hated his high-and-mighty act for ages. Good riddance." "Yeah, look at him, skinny as a rail, looks like a girl. I'm surprised he can even lift a wok! Hahahaha..." Amidst the laughter, my anxiety spiked. "Enough. Shut it," Sutton coughed lightly and looked at me. "Caleb, Mr. Vance asked for you by name." 02 I looked up at Sutton, stunned. "Why does he want to see me?" "To fire you in person, obviously!" "Hilarious. A hillbilly trying to show off culinary skills to a billionaire. You really dropped a rock on your own foot this time." The colleague laughed with schadenfreude. Sutton didn't deny it, only saying, "Follow me." "You'll know when you get there." On the way to the Golden Suite, Sutton only said one thing. He said Mr. Vance's expression after eating the ravioli wasn't good, and I should pray for myself. That sentence kept me on edge the whole way. Until I followed Sutton into the private room. The moment the door opened, I saw Silas Vance sitting at the head of the table. It was sudden. I hadn't seen him in seven years. Silas was flanked by two young men. One wore a white dress shirt, unbuttoned down to his chest. The other wore a sheer knit top, his silhouette visible underneath. The boy in the white shirt was lighting a cigarette for Silas. He bent slightly, the silk ribbon around his neck swaying gently in front of Silas's eyes. The one in the sheer top was kneeling by Silas's feet, holding a wine glass with his mouth. His voice was muffled and suggestive. "Mr. Vance, this is for you." This scene wasn't unfamiliar to me. Back when my father was the richest man in the city, this was my daily life. Except back then, the one lighting my cigarettes and kneeling before me was Silas. The Silas who was cold and aloof in public, but fulfilled all my twisted quirks in private. But now, everything had changed. I was grateful I was wearing a mask. Combined with the tall chef's hat, two-thirds of my face was hidden. Only my eyes were exposed. These eyes no longer held the playful arrogance of the past. Only exhaustion and weariness remained. So when Silas looked up at me, I wasn't overly nervous. Seven years had passed. He surely wouldn't recognize me. Or rather, he had likely erased me from his memory. Sutton stood in front of me, bowing respectfully to Silas. "Mr. Vance, this is the chef who made the ravioli, Caleb." Oh, right. After leaving New York, I changed my name. First and last. Silas looked past Sutton, his gaze landing on me across the dining table. His eyes were indifferent, revealing no emotion. But his voice suppressed a strange undertone. "Where is Chef Caleb from?" Silas took the lighter from the shirt-boy's hand, tapping it rhythmically against the table. Click. Click. I watched his movement. That was a habit of mine. I used to do that when I was annoyed or nervous. How should I put it? Since entering the room, I felt Silas was acting like someone. Like the old me. I answered him in a local Philadelphia accent. "Born and raised in Philly." "Oh? Has Chef Caleb ever been to New York?" Silas stared at me with probing eyes. The old Silas was a puppet I manipulated at will. I never thought there would come a day when I would feel panic before someone I once controlled. I tried to keep my voice calm. "Never." 03 Thud. The sound of the lighter hitting the table stopped abruptly. Silas stood up. With a single glance, the two men beside him retreated. He stood there, staring fixedly at me across the table. That razor-sharp gaze seemed to want to slice through my mask and lay me bare. My hands clenched unconsciously. Just as Silas was about to speak again, Sutton stepped in to smooth things over. "Mr. Vance, Caleb really is a local." "Since we've known him, he's been working at the hotel. He hasn't been to New York." "Is the ravioli not to your taste? How about this, I'll have a chef from New York make an authentic bowl for you, does that work?" Others in the room started chiming in. "Look at Mr. Vance's aura, you've scared the little chef." "It's just a bowl of pasta, have someone make another one." "Manager Sutton, take him away. If he can't even make ravioli, don't let him stay and ruin your reputation." Sutton looked at me with pity. He sighed. "Go." I turned to leave the room, following Sutton. Regret filled my heart. I shouldn't have gambled on this. I walked dejectedly, frantically thinking of how to beg Sutton for a second chance. Suddenly, Silas's deep voice rang out from behind. "Cole." My body froze violently. Cole. That was my name before. 04 I was fired anyway. Sutton said his hands were tied. The current Silas sat at the top of the food chain. Offending him was suicide. I didn't want to make things hard for Sutton. After taking this month's salary, I left through the hotel's back door. Behind the hotel was a long, dark alley. To prevent guests from smelling the grease and smoke on us, the owner mandated all staff leave through the back. But I didn't expect Silas to find such a desolate alley. I had just stepped out, barely taking two steps, when someone called out. "Chef Caleb." Silas's voice was raspy. Accompanying his voice was the crisp sound of a lighter flicking on. In the dim alley, a flame flickered. When I turned, the fire lit up. Silas leaned against the wall, a cigarette between his lips. The rising smoke obscured his eyes. I couldn't see his expression clearly. But I knew he was looking at me. I turned my back to him, reaching into my pocket for a fresh mask. Spending years dodging debt collectors, I always carried a mask to avoid being recognized by old acquaintances. My hand in my pocket was suddenly pinned down. A warm palm slid into my pocket, caressing down from the back of my hand until his fingers interlaced with mine. Just like that, my hand, still in my pocket, was tightly clasped by Silas from behind. Locked in his palm. In the past, I was the one pinning Silas to the bed. Silas never resisted. Today, for the first time, I clearly realized how strong Silas actually was. If he wanted to resist, I wouldn't stand a chance. Just like now, he yanked my hand out without a shred of gentleness. A forceful spin. I couldn't even stand steady, stumbling back a few steps. Just as I was about to hit the wall, Silas reached out and caught my waist. He pinned me against the brick, his hand gripping my jaw like a vice, forcing my head up. "Chef Caleb seems quite indifferent about this job." Silas spat out the cigarette, his tone playful. "But I heard your manager say you needed this job desperately?" I knew Silas had recognized me. Perhaps he wanted revenge. After all, I used money to humiliate him back then. I used his grandmother to threaten him. I forced a perfectly straight man into something else, making him serve me night after night. In the dark, neither of us could see the other's expression clearly. I looked up, resigning myself to fate. "Yes, this job is very important to me." "If possible, please, Mr. Vance, raise your hand high and let me go." If I could turn back time, I would slap the old Cole across the face. Friends used to warn me to build up good karma, not to play with fire. Because no one knows what the future holds. What if the tables turned? What did I say back then? I was pinning Silas down, biting him, laughing with arrogant nonchalance. "Let them turn. I don't believe they can turn enough to kill me." Prophetic words. Who would have thought the young Master Cole, who spent money like water, would now be desperate for a line cook job? Begging the man he once toyed with in a low voice. Silas lowered his head slightly, his hot breath against my ear. "Is Chef Caleb begging me?" I nodded. "Yes, begging you. Please don't let the owner fire me." A low chuckle sounded in my ear. The hand gripping my jaw loosened slightly, sliding down my neck, landing on my throat. Then tightened abruptly. I was instantly choked, breathless. The instinct to survive made me grab Silas's hand, hitting it hard. But Silas wouldn't let go. Just as I felt I was about to pass out, Silas suddenly released me. I slid down the wall as he let go. Sitting on the ground, clutching my neck, gasping for air. The man's low, raspy voice came from above. "Cole, if you're going to beg, look like you're begging." "Do you need me to help you remember how you made me beg you back then?"
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