My Goodness Isn’t For Them, It’s For M

Chapter 3

"Ms. Wilson, could we get one more close-up of you rinsing the rice?"

The director called out from behind the monitor the next morning.

"Can I manage it with one hand?" I asked.

He glanced at my bandaged thumb.

"It'll have to do. Just try not to make it obvious. The platform already locked in our featured release slot, and we have to finish the rough cut today."

The video's title was Grandma's Kitchen.

As one of the biggest food creators online with over five million followers, this project marked my biggest step this year toward documentary-style storytelling and building my own personal brand.

The platform had given it prime homepage placement.

From the initial concept and ingredient selection to every storyboard and camera angle, I'd handled every detail myself after countless sleepless nights.

I washed the rice slowly with my injured right hand.

One of the camera assistants lowered his voice. "Isn't she Mr. West's fiancée? Why is she filming by herself when her hand's hurt that badly?"

Another replied, "I heard Mr. West's been putting a lot more trust in Secretary Betty Shaw lately. She even decided yesterday's wedding menu."

"That's... awkward."

"She's probably afraid a newcomer will take her place. That's why she's still forcing herself to work."

I drained the rice. Water trickled down the side of the bowl and dripped onto the counter.

The director walked over. "Ms. Wilson, are you okay to continue?"

I nodded. "I'm fine."

We had just started filming the soup sequence when Betty's voice came from the entrance.

"Everyone's working so hard. I brought a little something."

She walked in with a stylist, two production assistants, and the brand PR manager from Jacob's company. They were carrying coffee and pastries.

The director looked surprised. "Ms. Shaw?"

She smiled softly. "Everyone's been working hard. Mr. West watched the rough cut earlier, and he felt the bandage on Ms. Wilson's hand hurts the traditional aesthetic of the video. The platform wants everything to look flawless."

She paused before continuing. "He said if Miss Wilson isn't in the best condition, I can be her hand double. You can just switch to wide shots during editing."

The director looked at me. Then at her.

"Let's keep filming for now."

The clay pot soup finally finished cooking. I reached for an oven mitt to lift it.

Before I could, Betty somehow found another pair of heat-resistant gloves and stepped in first.

"I'll do it. It's only a close-up of the hands anyway. Your injury hasn't healed yet. Mr. West told me to help you as much as possible."

I had barely said, "Don't touch that..."

When her wrist suddenly twisted. The scorching hot clay pot crashed onto the counter.

Boiling soup splashed across the bandage on my hand. Heat shot straight into the wound. The pain made everything in front of me go white.

Betty stumbled back. Her eyes instantly filled with tears.

"I'm so sorry. I was only trying to help."

The director immediately called for everyone to stop.

Fresh blood slowly seeped through my bandage.

By the time Jacob arrived, the only thing he saw was Betty standing there with tears streaming down her face.

"What happened?"

She choked back a sob. "Mr. West... I dropped Ms. Wilson's clay pot. I'm so useless."

I pressed down on my bandage and said nothing.

Jacob walked toward me, his voice softer than before. "Cheryl, I know your hand hurts. But the project can't come to a halt because of emotions."

Betty hurriedly interrupted. "Mr. West, don't blame Ms. Wilson. This was all my fault. I shouldn't have tried to help."

Jacob took off his jacket and draped it over Betty's shoulders.

"Don't be afraid. I'll handle everything here."

Then he turned to me. "Your hand really is affecting the shoot. We can't lose the homepage feature, so Betty will appear on camera this time. You'll stay behind the scenes as the culinary consultant."

I slowly looked up.

For a split second, every sound inside the studio felt muffled, as though I were underwater.

Jacob met my eyes.

After two long seconds of silence, he finally spoke, "The project has to come first. Cheryl, stay behind the scenes this time. Once your hand heals, I'll arrange something even better for you."

I remembered the first year I started my channel. Back then, I only had a few hundred followers.

Jacob used to help me set up the lights. He'd stand behind the camera and smile. "The way your eyes light up when you cook is beautiful. I'll always support you."

Now he was the one removing me from in front of the camera.

I returned to the dressing room and carefully removed my bandage.

The wound had split open again. When I sprinkled medicine over it, even my sharp intake of breath was barely audible.

My laptop screen was still glowing.

I uploaded the project folder titled Grandma's Kitchen to my private cloud storage.

Then I picked up my phone and sent a message to Stanley Carter, the producer of Flavors of the South.