$2000 Bonus? Watch Your Century-Old Restaurant Die

Chapter 2

I turned off my phone screen and hurriedly wrapped my injured hand with gauze.

We had three VIP reservations scheduled for tomorrow.

The stock for The Legendary Beef Wellington still needed another four hours of preparation.

*****

Early the next morning, I was in the kitchen preparing the ingredients when Margaret called me out to the front dining area.

My parents were sitting in the host chairs at the head of the table.

Ethan and Olivia sat on either side of them.

A newspaper was spread across the table.

The front-page headline announced the city's triennial culinary competition.

The first-place winner would receive a development grant worth tens of millions.

"Claire, sit down."

Margaret gave me a rare smile.

That smile sent a strange sense of unease through me.

"You saw the news about the culinary competition, didn't you? The York House is entering this year. Your father and I discussed it, and we want you to hand over the recipes for the Golden Sashimi and your signature dish, The Legendary Beef Wellington. Write down every detail, including the ingredients and preparation methods."

I dried my hands and sat down.

"The recipes aren't finished yet. I'm still adjusting the proportions of some ingredients. Besides, both dishes require extremely precise temperature control and technique. I'm the only one who can prepare them properly and preserve the original flavor."

Before I could finish, Richard slammed his cup onto the table.

The sharp c***k echoed through the room.

"Who said you have to be the one cooking them? If the recipes are written clearly enough, anyone can follow the instructions, can't they?"

I stared at him.

"Dad, cooking isn't something you can complete by following a checklist. Take the Golden Sashimi, for example. Even the angle of the knife matters. If it's off by even a fraction, the texture changes completely when you take a bite..."

"Enough!"

Richard shot to his feet and ripped the notebook clipped to my apron away from me.

The rough edge of the paper scraped against my injured wrist.

That worn, yellowed notebook was three years of my life.

I had created it by studying old culinary records and conducting hundreds of experiments until I perfected every ingredient ratio.

Every page contained notes from failed attempts, small breakthroughs, and the final versions of my recipes.

I had written every single line beside the kitchen stove at 2 or 3 in the morning.

"What do you mean, your recipes?" Richard snapped. "You live in this house, we provide your food and shelter, and you developed these dishes in The York House kitchen. So every single thing you created belongs to the restaurant."

He flipped through a few pages before tossing the notebook toward Ethan.

After Richard finished shouting, Margaret stepped in.

Her voice softened, as if she was patiently convincing a child.

"Claire, sweetheart, I'm doing this for your own good. The judges at this competition care about young people carrying on family culinary traditions. Think about it. Ethan studied abroad, he looks the part, and he graduated from business school. When he stands on that stage, he'll represent our family perfectly."

She reached out and patted the back of my hand.

Her palm landed directly on my infected burn.

A sharp wave of pain shot through me.

I flinched.

But she didn't even notice.

"We'll put Ethan's name on the recipes, and he'll appear on stage as the head chef. You can stay in the kitchen and support him. That's where you belong."

Olivia dropped her phone onto the table.

"I already planned the entire livestream campaign!"

She looked thrilled.

"#Young heir returns from overseas to restore century-old culinary treasures.# This title will go viral! I'll film everything behind the scenes. The traffic will be incredible."

She turned to me with a sweet smile that made my stomach turn.

"Claire, don't be upset. You've never been good on camera, and you're not exactly great at talking to people. If you went on stage, everyone online would say, 'Why does this chef look so unpolished?' That would embarrass the whole family, wouldn't it?"

My eyes stayed fixed on the notebook in Ethan's hands.

Three years of my effort, my exhaustion, and my sacrifices were trapped inside those pages.

"Ethan can't even tell salt from sugar. There's no way he can recreate the flavor."

Slap!

Richard's palm struck my face.

My head snapped to the side from the force.

A dull ringing filled my ears.

"Shut up! You're just jealous because your brother is finally getting recognition! All you know how to do is fight against your own family!" He pointed at me. "The recipe is written right there. Anyone can follow instructions. I told you to keep quiet! You'll stay in the kitchen and prepare every dish these next few days. Ethan will handle everything in front of the cameras, and you'll cook behind the scenes. Understood?"

I pressed my hand against my burning cheek.

No tears fell.

I looked at every face in front of me.

Each of them wore the same expression.

The belief that anything I created belonged to them.

Margaret nodded with satisfaction.

Ethan flipped through my notebook, complaining that my handwriting was too small.

Olivia was already drafting the livestream promotion.

Not one of them asked whether I was hurt.

Not one of them noticed the bandage on my hand was already soaked through with infection.

I stood up and walked back into the kitchen.

The stock for The Legendary Beef Wellington was still simmering on the stove.

I picked up the ladle and stirred it.

My hand trembled.

Fine.

If they wanted it so badly, they could have it.

It wasn't like I had written down the most important ingredient in that notebook anyway.

I unlocked my phone and sent a message to Julian.

Claire: I'll report for duty at Grandcrest Hotel by next week at the latest.

The moment the message was delivered, I deleted the entire chat history.

Then I slipped my phone back into my pocket.