Chapter 1

The scent of rosemary and garlic filled the kitchen, a familiar comfort that always settled my nerves. I carefully basted the roasted chicken, watching the skin turn a perfect, crisp gold under the oven light. This wasn't just any dinner, this was my future. The Ashton Culinary Academy application was sitting on the counter, almost complete. All it needed was the video submission of me preparing my signature dish, my father's recipe, the one that held all my dreams.

My step-sister, Brittany, glided into the kitchen, her phone already in her hand, recording.

"Looking good, sis! Ready for your big debut?"

I smiled, a genuine, hopeful smile. "Almost. Just need to get the plating right."

Brittany's clique, including Liam, filed in behind her. Liam, my friend since we were kids, the one who knew this recipe meant more to me than anything. He gave me a weak smile and avoided my eyes, which felt strange.

"Okay, everyone, gather 'round!" Brittany announced, her voice booming with the fake enthusiasm she used for her followers. "Welcome back to the 'Ultimate Prank Challenge'! Today, my step-sister Chloe thinks she's making an audition video for some stuffy cooking school."

My stomach dropped. The basting brush slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor.

"But what she doesn't know," Brittany continued, her smile widening into a cruel smirk, "is that this is actually her entry for the 'Worst Chef Wannabe' contest! The prize? A lifetime supply of instant noodles!"

Laughter erupted from her friends. It was loud and sharp, echoing in the kitchen that had just felt so warm and safe. I looked at Liam, my heart pounding, begging him with my eyes to say something, to tell me this was a joke. He just stared at his shoes, his shoulders hunched. The live-stream comments started flooding Brittany's screen, a river of laughing emojis and cruel jokes about my apron, my focused expression, my dream.

"The best part," Brittany said, zooming in on the application form on the counter, "is we 'accidentally' spilled water all over her application. Oops! Guess the deadline will just have to pass."

I saw it then, the crumpled, water-stained paper, my meticulously written essays blurred into meaningless inkblots. My chance was gone. They hadn't just made a joke of my passion, they had actively destroyed my opportunity. The chicken in the oven, my father's legacy, was just a prop in their game for social media likes.

The camera was still on me. In the reflection on the dark screen of the oven, I saw their triumphant faces, a circle of hyenas enjoying their kill. Brittany was basking in the glow of the screen, Liam was still a statue of shame, and I was on the outside, a ghost in my own kitchen. The warmth was gone, replaced by a cold, hollowing emptiness. All I could feel was the sting of betrayal.

I turned off the oven. The golden-brown chicken suddenly looked unappetizing. I took off the apron, my father' s old apron, and folded it carefully, placing it on the counter. My hands were shaking, but my mind was clear. This was not a home. These were not friends. This was not a family. I had to get out.

I walked straight past them, ignoring Brittany's calls of, "Aw, Chloe, can't you take a joke?" I went to my room and locked the door.

Later, I heard Liam knock softly. "Chloe? Can we talk?"

I pressed my ear to the door, my breath held tight. I needed to hear his excuse, his reason for letting this happen.

"I... I know you're mad," he mumbled through the wood. "But Brittany said it was just for fun. And she promised... she promised we'd help you re-apply. That we'd do it together, like we always planned."

His voice was laced with a pathetic sort of hope, as if he actually believed the words coming out of his own mouth. He was still clinging to the idea that we were a 'we', that our shared dream of opening a restaurant together was still real. The promise felt like ash in my mouth.

The sound of his footsteps retreated, and I was left alone with the silence. A few minutes later, I heard Brittany's voice, sharp and dismissive, floating up from the hallway below. I crept to the door and cracked it open, just enough to hear.

"Are you serious, Liam? You actually went up there to apologize? She's just being dramatic. It's not like she was actually going to get into Ashton anyway. She's just a small-town girl playing with her dead dad's recipes. It's cute, but it's not talent."

Each word was a physical blow. She wasn't just cruel, she was dismissive of the one thing that connected me to my father, the one part of me I thought was special. The pain was so sharp it took my breath away. This wasn't a prank. This was who they were.

The next morning, my mother, Mrs. Davis, knocked on my door. "Chloe, honey? Ashton Culinary Academy just called. They said you missed the submission deadline and your application was incomplete. They've withdrawn your consideration." Her voice wasn't angry, or even sad. It was just... factual. A statement of news. She didn't ask what happened. She didn't ask if I was okay. She was just the messenger, delivering the final nail in the coffin of my dream. The project of my life, terminated by a phone call she took with casual indifference.