Chapter 2

The day after I walked out on Jacob, I went straight to the bank to check the balance on my card.

The girl behind the counter told me there was 15 million dollars in it, her envy barely concealed. I was so thrilled that I almost jumped up right there in the lobby.

I quit showbiz in a flash. I deleted all my socials, changed my number, and said goodbye to my old life for good.

*****

With that money, I bought a small shop on a quiet street corner in the city. A place that felt warm and welcoming.

I named it "Chloe's Little Diner."

I did everything myself. I handled the decorating, the stocking, and I hired every single employee.

On opening day, I stood in the steamy kitchen, wearing my chef's uniform. I watched a line of customers stretch out the door. For the first time in my life, I felt truly settled.

Word spread fast. My diner became known for real ingredients and authentic flavors. Soon, it was a hit.

At first, only the locals came. Then food bloggers and influencers started showing up. Before I knew it, Chloe's Little Diner was a mini internet sensation.

I was running around nonstop every day. But honestly? I loved every second of it.

The happiness of building a life with my own two hands? It beat 15 million dollars, hands down.

I thought I was done with Jacob for good.

*****

Then one day, a guy showed up looking for me. He said he was the director of a food show called "The Throne of Taste."

It was the top cooking show in the country. A total household name.

The director was a slightly chubby, middle-aged guy with a warm, welcoming smile.

"Ms. Summers, we sincerely invite you to join us for this season of the show," he said.

I wiped my hands and turned him down flat. "Sorry, I just run a little diner. Those big shows aren't for someone like me," I said.

The truth was, I didn't want anything to do with showbiz again.

But the director wasn't ready to quit. He handed me a contract.

"Ms. Summers, don't say no yet. We know you don't need the money. But this season's grand prize isn't just the 'Taste King or Queen' title. It's also a three-million-dollar investment in your restaurant," he said.

Three million dollars.

I stared at all those zeros on the contract. My heart skipped a beat.

With three million dollars, I could open new locations and turn Chloe's Little Diner into a real brand.

On my own, I'd never be able to pull that off that fast.

The director saw me wavering. So he turned up the heat.

"Plus, to protect non-celebrity contestants, you can use an alias if you want," he said.

I fell silent.

Let's be real. I still loved money.

Making money with my own skills? Nothing to be ashamed of.

In the end, I signed the contract.

For my alias, I put down "Cleo."

I thought I was just chasing my dream and money. I had no idea an invisible net was closing in around me.

*****

The show went way smoother than I expected.

My cooking was legit. Every dish had that warm, comforting taste of home. The judges and the audience got hooked fast.

I kept winning round after round. I became the show's biggest dark horse. My fan base exploded.

They started calling me "Cleo, the healing queen of the kitchen."

I loved every second of being recognized. I almost forgot about Jacob and that whole stand-in nightmare.

*****

On the finals night, the tension in the studio was insane.

It was one other contestant, a Michelin-star chef, and me going head to head for the championship.

The host stood center stage, his voice buzzing with excitement. "Tonight, we have a surprise heavyweight guest. Our show's top investor. Please welcome..."

The spotlight hit the stage entrance.

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows. He walked with calm, steady steps.

Then that face came into the light. It was so familiar, etched deep in my memory. My head buzzed, and then my mind went blank.

I almost dropped my spatula.

Jacob.

What was he doing there?

He wore a custom-tailored suit, every detail perfect. His hair was neat, not a single strand out of place. Compared to three months ago, he looked leaner and more aloof.

But his eyes were locked on me, swirling with pain and emotions so tangled that I had never seen anything like it.

A strange silence fell over the room.

Everyone felt something was off.

The host looked totally lost. He stammered, trying to break the ice. "M-Mr. Quinn, welcome. Do you... know our contestant, Cleo?"

Jacob didn't even glance at him. He walked toward me, every step full of determination. With each step, it was like the weight of his presence pressed down on my chest.

He stopped right in front of me. His tall frame cast a shadow that seemed to swallow me whole.

The only thing between us was a cold countertop.

Then he spoke. His voice was deeply raspy, like sandpaper. "She's not Cleo. That's not her real name," he said.

His gaze was like two sharp blades, threatening to cut me apart piece by piece. "Her name is Chloe Summers. And she's... the woman I love."