Chapter 1

The air inside the terminal felt stale after a fourteen-hour flight, but Ethan didn't notice. He held the silver trophy in his lap, its weight a solid, comforting presence. It wasn't just metal, it was validation. First place at the International "Le Cordon Bleu" Grand Prix, a competition he'd dreamed of since he was a kid dicing onions in his father's kitchen. He had called Olivia from Paris, but only left a vague message about being delayed, wanting the full reveal to be a surprise.

Today was their anniversary, the fifth year since they opened "Olivia's Table" together, the third since he'd asked her to marry him. He imagined her face when he walked in, not just with the trophy, but with the Sterling Corporation contract tucked safely in his briefcase. It was a deal that would finally lift them into the major leagues, securing their future. A smile touched his lips, he couldn't wait to see her.

He pushed through the glass doors of their restaurant, the familiar chime of the bell lost in a wave of noise. The place was packed, buzzing with a celebratory energy he didn't understand. A small, temporary stage was set up near the bar, bathed in a spotlight.

And on that stage stood Olivia. She was beautiful, glowing in a new dress, but she wasn't alone. Her hand was intertwined with Mark's, her long-time mentor, a man Ethan had always respected but never fully trusted. "...and I owe it all to one person," Olivia's voice rang out, amplified by a microphone. "The one who saw my potential from the very beginning, who guided me, who believed in me when no one else did. He is the true heart and soul of this kitchen, and I am so proud to officially name him as our new Head Chef... Mark!" The crowd erupted in applause. Ethan felt the sound hit him like a physical blow. He stood frozen, the trophy in his hand suddenly feeling heavy and cold.

He watched as Mark leaned in and kissed Olivia, not on the cheek, but a full, lingering kiss on the lips, right there on the stage. The applause grew louder. No one noticed Ethan standing by the door, his world tilting on its axis. He started moving, pushing through the smiling, oblivious crowd, his eyes locked on Olivia.

When he finally reached the edge of the stage, she looked down and saw him. For a split second, her smile faltered, a flicker of shock, maybe guilt, crossed her face. Then it was gone, replaced by a cool, almost annoyed expression. She stepped down, Mark's arm possessively around her waist. "Ethan," she said, her voice flat. "You're back. This isn't a good time." Mark just smirked, a look of undisguised triumph in his eyes. He was wearing a head chef's jacket, one Ethan recognized as his own. The humiliation was a hot, sharp thing in his throat.

"What is this, Olivia?" Ethan's voice was low, strained. "Head Chef? That's my title. And... what was that?" He gestured toward the stage. Olivia rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. Mark has been the real creative force here for years, we both know that. Your food is... adequate, but his vision is what will take us to the next level." Mark chimed in, his tone dripping with false sympathy.

"Look, kid, your little competition abroad was a cute distraction, but this is the big league. We're running a real business here." Ethan felt the air leave his lungs. He opened his briefcase, his hands shaking slightly, and pulled out the thick folder. "A real business?" he repeated, his voice hollow. "I just secured the Sterling Corporation catering contract. A five-year exclusive deal. It's worth millions. It sets us up for life."

He held it out, a final, desperate plea for her to see him, to remember what they had built together. Olivia glanced at the contract, then looked at Mark. They exchanged a look, and then they both started to laugh. It wasn't a nice sound. It was sharp and mocking. "Sterling?" Olivia scoffed, pushing the contract away as if it were contaminated.

"Ethan, you're so naive. You probably promised them the moon and can't deliver. You're not competent enough to handle something that big. Mark and I will have to clean up your mess, as usual." The casual cruelty of her words finally broke something inside him. He looked from her cold, dismissive face to Mark's smug one. The noise of the party faded away, leaving only a dull roar in his ears.

He looked down at the contract in his hands, the paper representing months of hard work, sleepless nights, and the last vestiges of his hope. He slowly, deliberately, tore it in half. The ripping sound was shockingly loud in the sudden silence that fell around them. He didn't stop there. He tore the halves into quarters, then into eighths, letting the small white pieces flutter from his hands onto the polished floor at Olivia's feet. He didn't say a word. He just turned his back on her, on Mark, on the restaurant that held five years of his life, and walked out.

The cold night air was a shock. He walked a full block before he stopped, leaning against a brick wall, the trophy still clutched in one hand. He pulled out his phone, his fingers fumbling with the screen. He scrolled to a number he hadn't called in three years. It rang twice before a deep voice answered. "Hello?" Ethan swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. "Dad," he managed to say, his voice cracking. "I failed. I'm coming home."