Beyond the Burnt Sugar: Her Sweet Revenge

I was reborn on the day of the Scott Hospitality Innovator's Gauntlet, the air thick with burnt sugar and the scent of my past misery.

I won that competition, but instead of the grand prize, I gained a forced marriage to Ryan Scott, grandson of the powerful food empire patriarch.

My wedding day turned into a public spectacle when Ryan's socialite "true love" faked a suicide attempt, painting me as the villain who stole her life.

Years of icy marriage culminated in a nightmare: Ryan smothered our infant son, believing he was saving his precious Molly from my "theft," then murdered me.

My last thought was of my dying father, knowing he'd be next.

Now, I'm back, standing at the final challenge of that very competition, but this time, I' m not just winning; I'm orchestrating my freedom.

I was reborn on the day of the final challenge, the air thick with the smell of burnt sugar and desperation. In my last life, this was the day my misery began.

The "Scott Hospitality Innovator's Gauntlet." A series of four culinary trials with a $100,000 prize. I needed that money. My father was in a hospital bed, the bills piling up like snowdrifts, and his life depended on it.

I won. But I didn't get the money. Instead, I got Duncan Scott, the old patriarch of the Scott empire, who saw something in me. He saw grit. He saw a skill with French cuisine inherited from my grandmother. He saw the perfect wife for his grandson, Ryan Scott.

Ryan didn't see me. He saw Molly Chadwick, the socialite "foodie" he loved, the woman who came in second place. On my wedding day to Ryan, Molly staged a suicide attempt. It was a dramatic, public spectacle that cemented her as a tragic victim in Ryan's eyes and painted me as the villain who stole her life.

Years passed in a cold, loveless marriage. I gave him a son. I thought maybe, just maybe, a child could bridge the gap between us.

I was wrong. I woke up one night to find Ryan pressing a pillow over our baby's face, his voice a venomous whisper.

"You stole her life, Gabrielle. You and this thing. You took everything from Molly."

He smothered our child. Then he had me killed. My last thought was of my father, alone in the hospital, knowing Ryan would pull his life support next.

Now, I'm back. It's the final challenge. A dessert competition. The air is electric, the judges are waiting. But this time, I'm not competing. I have a new plan.

I walk past the gleaming workstations, ignoring the frantic energy of the other chefs. My target is Molly Chadwick. She's standing by her station, pretending to review her notes, but I know she's just waiting to steal someone else's idea. She's a fraud. I know it, and so does Duncan Scott.

I approach her, my steps steady.

She looks up, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. "What do you want, Johns? Here to beg for a job after you lose?"

I don't smile. I keep my voice low and even. "I'm here to sell you the competition."

Molly freezes. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arch in disbelief. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. My scores from the first three challenges. They're high enough to guarantee a win, even if you just present a bowl of melted ice cream today. I'll give them to you. For a price."

Her eyes narrow, searching for a trick. "Why would you do that?"

"My father is sick. I need money, not a trophy or a forced marriage into some Boston dynasty. The prize is one hundred thousand. I want two hundred and fifty thousand."

Her shock is real. The amount is staggering, but I can see the gears turning in her head. A guaranteed win. The title. The validation. The approval from Ryan. It's all she's ever wanted.

"You're insane," she says, but there's no conviction in her voice.

"I'm serious. A cashier's check. Now. Or I walk back to my station and I win. And we both know what happens then. Old man Duncan will be tying a leash around my neck and dragging me to the altar with Ryan. Is that what you want?"

Her face pales. The thought of me marrying Ryan is her worst nightmare. She knows Duncan despises her. She knows he'd do it.

"Fine," she hisses, her voice tight with a mixture of fury and greed. "Wait here."

She disappears for ten minutes. I stand perfectly still, ignoring the stares and the calls from the stage managers telling me to get to my station. She returns, pressing a folded cashier's check into my hand.

I unfold it. $250,000.

"It's done," I say. I turn and walk away without another word.

"Gabrielle Johns, you have one minute to get to your station!" the announcer's voice booms over the speakers.

I don't look back. I walk straight out the door, the check clutched in my hand. This time, I'm saving my father. I'm saving myself.

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and quiet despair. I paid every single one of my father' s outstanding bills, the cashier' s check feeling like a shield in my hands. The relief was so profound it almost brought me to my knees. For the first time in two lives, I felt a flicker of hope.

Back in the competition hall, chaos had erupted. I knew this because my phone was buzzing nonstop with calls from the organizers. I ignored them all.

Later, I saw the news clips online. Molly Chadwick, declared the winner by default. Ryan Scott, the handsome heir, rushing to her side, kissing her for the cameras. He looked ecstatic, celebrating his true love's victory. But even through the screen, I saw it-a brief, confused frown, a glance toward the empty space where my station had been. An unexplainable sense of loss. He didn' t know why he felt it, not yet.

The next day, as I sat by my father' s bedside, a tall, imposing figure filled the doorway of the hospital room. Duncan Scott. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles, his eyes sharp and intelligent. He looked just as formidable as I remembered.

"Gabrielle Johns," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You are a difficult girl to find."

I stood up, my body tense. "Mr. Scott. I' m not interested in whatever you' re selling."

"I'm not selling anything," he said, his eyes glinting with something that looked like amusement. "I'm offering. I was impressed by your performance in the first three challenges. Molly's dessert was... uninspired. I know you threw the match. I want to know why."

Before I could answer, another voice cut through the air, sharp and angry.

"So this is where you ran off to."

Ryan Scott stood behind his grandfather, his handsome face twisted into a mask of fury. But it wasn't just anger in his eyes. It was something else. A chilling, familiar recognition.

My blood ran cold. No. It couldn't be.

He pushed past his grandfather and strode toward me, his gaze locked on mine. "Don't play these games with me, Gabrielle. I know what you're doing."

He lowered his voice, a menacing whisper only I could hear. "I remember everything. Every single moment. The wedding. The baby. Everything. You think running away is going to work this time?"

The floor seemed to drop out from under me. He was reborn, too. He remembered murdering our child. He remembered destroying my life. And he thought this was a game. He thought I was playing hard-to-get.

Duncan looked between us, his expression unreadable. "Ryan, what is the meaning of this? I am offering Miss Johns a position as my protégée, a chance to train under the best chefs in our group."

It was a lie, a thinly veiled excuse to keep me within his grandson's reach.

Ryan smirked, a cruel, possessive look on his face. He expected me to be terrified, to crumble under the weight of our shared, horrific past. He thought he had me trapped.

I looked from Ryan' s smug face to Duncan' s expectant one. I took a deep breath.

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Scott," I said, my voice clear and strong. "But I have to decline. I want nothing to do with your family."