Somewhere Between Love and Revenge

The anger and annoyance were evident in Mia's eyes.

"Whisk it well, that's right. Now put a teaspoon of oil in the pan and-"

"Can you shut up already?!" Mia screamed in frustration, startling Dixon. Instinctively, he took two steps back as if to shield himself.

What did I do? Dixon wondered. He had only been trying to help, yet she was snapping at him.

Mia was his friend, but he knew better than to test her patience if he valued his life. She had beaten him once when he pranked her, and he still bore a faint scar on his left arm as proof.

"Did I tell you I can't make an omelet? Geez! You're so annoying. I asked for a little help, and suddenly you think you're the boss of me?"

"No, I didn't-"

"Just shut up. I would have kicked you in the gut if you weren't my friend. But that's not a guarantee, so don't provoke me." She turned back to the pan, resuming what she was doing.

Dixon scoffed. "Tch, how mannerless."

"What did you just say?"

"N-Nothing," he stuttered, lying to save himself.

She was just too scary. Wasn't she supposed to be a lady? The ones he knew were cute, nice, and calm. But Mia? She was aggressive. Pretty, sure-but completely mannerless.

She spoke to him as if he were her younger brother, when in reality, he was three years older than her. Would it kill her to show a little respect?

"See? I fried it!" Mia announced proudly, holding up the omelet.

"Nice work." Dixon gave her two thumbs up. He cut a piece and popped it into his mouth, nodding in approval. When he tried to cut another, she smacked his hand away.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"I want another bite."

"You already had one."

"I know, but-"

"Not happening. I'm making noodles to go with it, so hands off."

He pouted, but she only glared at him.

"Don't think this is impressive. We're not even talking about main meals yet. Even a five-year-old can make an omelet."

"Then go find a five-year-old," she shot back.

"I'm being serious. We need to get serious about cooking-you have to learn fast."

"I know, I know. No need to remind me. We'll start the real lessons tomorrow, okay?"

"Whatever you say. So... what are you going to do about the current cook?"

Mia pulled out a pack of noodles from the cupboard and dropped it into the pot of boiling water.

"When the time is right, what needs to be done will be done," she said simply, moving to rinse and dice the vegetables.

Dixon frowned. "I just hope you're not planning anything dangerous."

She didn't answer. Instead, she smiled as she chopped the vegetables.

"That smile of yours isn't trustworthy."

"It doesn't have to be," she smirked.

******* ******* *******

A car ran by the dreary street in a not so pleasant evening.

The dry cold wind blew the trees, making them dance to its tune.

In the icy cold wind, a man in his early fifties staggered back home while mumbling some words in anger, cursing even.

In the middle of his never ending mumbles, a car's headlight shone so brightly that it took him seconds to realize that he was about to be hit.

Adrenaline shot in, but before he could take a step to safety, the vehicle rammed into his legs, sending him flying through the air. He crashed onto the cold asphalt with a pained scream..

The car reversed, turned around sharply and sped away, leaving the man to his fate.

*** *** ***

"Mission accomplished," Mia announced as she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She shrugged off her black leather jacket and flopped onto the couch.

"He's still alive, right?" Dixon asked.

She shrugged. "I don't really know, but I wasn't hard on him."

"We could have done it differently-without anyone getting hurt," Luther spoke up.

Among the trio, Luther was the introverted one. Tall, fair-skinned, with dark hair, he rarely spoke but was the smartest of them all. A tech whiz at twenty-eight.

Dixon, on the other hand, was the extrovert-talkative, charismatic, and charming. He was twenty-seven, tall, with brown hair and playful vibe.

"Yeah, yeah, what's done is done. No need to nag me about it," Mia replied nonchalantly.

"I'm not nagging," Luther said.

"Whether you are or not, I don't actually care," she replied, stretching lazily. "Once my eyes are fixated on a target, I never look away."

A man in a plain white tee and black shorts sat in his study room, his legs crossed on the table, a mug of coffee in his hand, and his eyes fixed on the document he was holding.

He was absorbed in its contents, his expression unreadable.

As he lifted the mug to take a sip, his phone rang, vibrating slightly on the wooden desk. With a sigh, he set the coffee down and answered the call, placing the phone on his ear.

"Mr. Hugh, Mr. Bono was involved in an accident."

Anton's body stiffened. "What?"

"He suffered a head injury. The doctors say he's slipped into a coma."

Anton's grip on the phone tightened. His expression remained composed, but a storm brewed within him.

"Location?" he asked in a steady voice tone, intentionally masking the weight of the news.

"I'll send it to you right away, sir."

The call ended, leaving Anton staring at the screen for a moment before setting the phone down.

The only person he considered family was now lying unconscious in a hospital bed. He inhaled deeply, letting out a slow, calculated sigh before rising from his chair.

---

Outside the hospital, Anton stepped into the cool evening air, his hands tucked into his pockets. His personal assistant, Mr. Robert, walked beside him, his expression blank.

"How did this happen?" Anton asked, his tone calm but laced with pain.

"I don't know, sir. I only received a call from the hospital informing me of the accident."

Anton's jaw tightened. "What has the team found out?"

"Nothing so far, sir. There are no clues at all."

Anton stopped walking, his gaze icy. "Tell them to conduct a thorough search. I want answers in a week."

"Yes, sir."

He turned back toward the hospital entrance, his gaze walking over the hospital building. "And lest I forget, transfer Mr. Bono from this... wrench of a hospital." His tone was sharp with disapproval.

"Understood, sir."

As Anton was about to enter his car, a sudden movement caught his eye. A woman in black baggy pants and an oversized black polo brushed past him, her long, silky black hair grazing his face.

His brows lifted slightly as he watched her walk-elegant yet nonchalant, exuding confidence in every step. She stopped a few feet ahead, speaking to a man before grabbing his hand and dragging him away without hesitation.

Intrigued, Anton's lips twitched into a small smirk. He didn't know her, but something about her demeanor-her long and confident strides, the nonchalance written in her eyes, the feisty energy she embodied-told him she was an interesting woman.

With a final glance at her direction, he got into his car and was driven off.

---

Mia strolled into the hospital's veranda without a care in the world, her hands tucked into her pants pockets. She moved with ease, paying no attention to the people around her.

Spotting Dixon, she came to a stop in front of him. "Luther told me I'd find you here," she said, tilting her head. "So, what exactly are you doing here when we have business to handle?"

Dixon shifted uncomfortably. "Tiffiny's mom is ill."

Mia raised a brow. "Who's Tiffiny?"

"My new girlfriend." He said quietly. "She asked me to wait here."

She groaned, rolling her eyes. "I never knew you were such a doting son-in-law."

Dixon grinned. "Well, now you know."

"Let's get out of here."

"But what about-"

Before he could finish, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along with little effort, not caring about the curious glances they received.

Dixon sighed in resignation. "You really have no patience, do you?"

Mia smirked.

"We have a 'lot' to do, you know that."

As she spoke, a certain mysterious glint appeared in her eyes; one that could make anyone shiver.

Every news channel carried the announcement that Mr. Hugh, the number one businessman and the richest man in the country, was looking for a chef.

Hugh Anton sat on a couch in his sitting room, watching the news. He laughed loudly.

This was his way of showing his rivals that he was above them.

He knew they would try to use this opportunity against him. His enemies would see it as a weakness, an opening to strike. But he wanted them to know he wasn't a fool. He wasn't CEO Hugh Anton for nothing.

He could have simply told Robert to hire a high-class chef. But where was the fun in that?

He twirled the glass of red wine in his hand and smirked.

"Well, let the fun begin, and may the best man lose."

---

Mia stood confidently at the back of the line in navy blue jeans, a black tee, and black flats, which were uncomfortable for her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

A long line of job seekers stretched outside one of Mr. Hugh's five-star hotels.

Security guards conducted a thorough search with scanning gadgets before leading them inside, where an even more meticulous, intimate search took place-female guards inspected the women, while male guards inspected the men.

Mia found the process embarrassing but had no choice.

The number of applicants was roughly thirty, and surprisingly, the majority were men.

"What was it with men and cooking these days?" Mia wondered.

Dixon was a good cook, even Luther could prepare a few meals, but she had only recently learned how to cook properly.

After the search, they were led to a waiting room, where they were called in one by one for their interviews.

Mia grew slightly nervous because none of the candidates who went in had come back out.

She started considering whether she should abandon this plan and go for Plan B instead.

Before she could decide, a male voice whispered beside her.

"Hey, you're up."

She had been so deep in thought that she hadn't heard the guard call her name.

"Oh... thank you," she said, getting up and moving toward the office.

---

"Sit down," Robert, Anton's PA, instructed as soon as she entered.

Mia looked around and noticed a young man seated next to Robert, focused on his computer. On the table, she spotted a familiar device-a polygraph.

"Oh..."

Lucky for her, Luther had once explained how to cheat a polygraph, so this would be easy.

She wore the wires and sat down, remaining as calm as ever.

"Your name?"

"Natasha Donald."

Correct.

"Age?"

"I'm 26 years old."

Correct.

"What made you decide to become a cook?"

... And the interview continued, each answer checking out as correct.

Robert glanced at the man beside him, who gave a nod.

"Go into that room," Robert instructed, pointing to a door on his right.

Mia stood up, bowed slightly, and entered the room.

Inside, there were only a few others-faces she recognized from the waiting area.

But where were the others?

Minutes later, they were given aprons and hair bonnets, then led into the kitchen.

---

The back door of the black Lamborghini swung open, and Anton stepped inside. Without raising his head, he opened a document and started reading through it.

Halfway through, he said, "Take me to Regal Da Ma."

"Okay, sir," the driver responded.

The car stopped at the hotel's back entrance, and the driver quickly opened the door for Anton.

Hands in his pockets, Anton stepped out and stared at the hotel before walking in.

"Good morning, sir," employees greeted him as he passed, bowing respectfully.

He nodded in acknowledgment.

Entering the elevator, he rode up to the third floor. Though he had left Robert in charge of the interview process, a sudden change of heart made him decide to show up.

Robert immediately spotted Anton as he entered the room and walked over.

"Mr. Hugh," he greeted with a bow. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to watch the interview," Anton replied casually, taking a seat and crossing his left leg over his right.

Robert sat beside him.

"Look, Robert, it's not like I don't trust you to handle this," Anton continued. "If I didn't, you wouldn't be my PA or my friend. You know that. But I wanted to see the interview firsthand... and also make Mr. Sham pissed."

Robert chuckled.

Anton's expression was amusing. He had an air of strictness and ruthlessness toward his other employees, but with Robert, he was different-caring, even.

Robert had worked for Anton for a year before their professional relationship turned into a friendship. Over time, he realized that Anton wasn't as bad as people thought. He was simply a man trying to survive, hiding his pain behind a cold exterior. Beneath it all, he was understanding and deeply loyal.

His past still haunted him.

"Now, let's get this done and over with," Anton said, his face turning stone-cold and ruthless once more.

"Let them in," he ordered.

The guard opened the door, and the selected applicants entered.

Out of the thirty who applied, only ten had been chosen for the practical interview. The remaining twenty were deemed 'fakes.'

When Anton spotted a familiar face, his eyes lit up.

"So, she's a cook, huh?" He smiled.

Robert addressed the applicants. Unlike a typical cooking interview, he instructed them to prepare Anton's favorite dish-fried rice.

With the ingredients already in place, they were given a time limit and told to begin.

Anton's attention was fixed on Mia.

"The other ones-the 'fakes'-are in the 'beating room,'" Robert said, but received no response.

He followed Anton's gaze and realized he wasn't staring at something-he was staring at someone. A woman.

Robert observed her. She was beautiful, no doubt, but what was so exceptional about her that had Anton so lost in thought?

"What do you think of her?" Robert whispered in Anton's ear, making him jolt out of his reverie.

"Huh?"

"The way you were looking at her-I wanted to know your thoughts," Robert teased.

It had been a long time since he'd seen Anton show interest in a woman.

A hard glare from Anton made Robert wipe the smirk off his face.

"You have five minutes to wrap up," Robert announced to the applicants.

"The 'fakes' are in the beating room," he repeated.

"Hmm... I'll visit them when I'm done here," Anton responded absentmindedly.

Soon, the applicants began presenting their dishes to the judges-Anton and Robert.

Anton hid his smile when he tasted Mia's food. He was impressed. She was a good cook, and most importantly, she had made his favorite meal perfectly.

After submitting their meals, each applicant exited the kitchen, leaving the judges to taste and rate the dishes.

Robert showed Anton his list of ratings. Anton immediately disagreed.

"Why is Ralph first on that list?" he questioned.

"Because he's good. Didn't you taste his meal?" Robert countered.

"I want Natasha to be my cook," Anton said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Robert sighed but wasn't ready to give up.

"But Anton-"

"Remind me who needs the cook?"

Robert exhaled in defeat. "Fine."

"Ralph can be the assistant cook." Anton said with finality in his tone as he stood up; he has to attend to the 'fakes'.