Heidi Kim

I slammed the metal pot onto the counter with more force than necessary, my frustration bubbling over like an overboiled stock. The kitchen of Flavium was my kingdom, every movement, every chop, every stir was a dance I had perfected over the years. But ever since Vina Rossi had stepped into my space, everything had felt… off.

“Chef Heidi, the mise en place for the Spaghetti Aglio e Olio is ready,” Damien called out, setting down a tray of neatly prepared ingredients.

I nodded, gripping the ladle tightly. “Good, I’ll prepare that in a second. Send this dish to the server for Table 6.” I instructed. “The place is packed tonight; we must keep everything in order.”

“Got it, Chef!”

Just as I was about to refocus, a too-familiar voice chimed in from my left.

“You know, slamming pots around won’t make me disappear,” Vina teased, her voice smooth as caramel.

I didn’t even turn to look at her. “Then, would you like for me to slam it on your face instead?”

She chuckled. “Ouch, Chef Kim. You're so brutal.” I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to stay composed.

It had been a week since she arrived, and already, my patience was wearing thin. It wasn’t just that she was competent, no, that would have been tolerable. It was the fact that she was completely unbothered by my authority.

She didn’t fear me. She didn’t cower under my orders like the other sous chefs I had worked with in the past. She challenged me, questioned my methods, and worst of all, sometimes she was right.

“Table four’s order is up in three minutes, Chef,” one of the line cooks reminded me.

I nodded, adjusting my focus. “Vina, check the sauce for consistency. It should coat the back of a spoon.”

“On it.” She dipped a spoon into the velvety liquid and twirled it between her fingers, examining the texture. “Looks good to me, but maybe it needs just a pinch more salt and some zest.”

I shot her a glare. “It doesn’t need any of those, Rossi. I already checked the flavor and it’s good,”

She smirked, the corner of her lips curling up in amusement. “Just saying, Chef.”

I gritted my teeth and turned back to my station. Every time we worked together, it felt like a battle of wills. She never outright defied me, but she had this way of making it known that she didn’t see me as above her. She saw me as her equal. And that was the problem.

“You're way too tense, Heidi.” Vina's voice was closer now, her presence invading my personal space. “Relax. Cooking is supposed to be fun.”

I turned sharply to face her. “First off, don’t call me by my first name when we are in the kitchen. Second, this isn’t just ‘fun’. I take my time here seriously. Unlike you, who does everything incoherently and doesn’t mind it at all. We don’t always have a father with a famous name to fall back on.”

Her smirk faltered for a second, but she recovered quickly. “Ouch. Low blow, Chef. But I’ll let it slide since you’re clearly stressed.”

“I’m not stressed,” I snapped.

She let out a short laugh. “Right. And I’m a five-foot gnome.”

I clenched my fists. “Can you just do your job and stop talking?”

“Multitasking is one of my many talents.” She winked before returning to her station, humming under her breath as if we weren’t in the middle of a heated dinner rush.

I hated how effortlessly she moved in the kitchen. It was supposed to take months, even years, for someone to adjust to the fast-paced environment of Flavium. Yet here she was, one week in, moving as if she had been here all along. Worse, the staff liked her. They laughed at her jokes, nodded along when she gave advice, and even Damien, the most serious of my cooks, seemed charmed by her presence.

“Chef, table seven requested to personally thank the chef who made their seafood pasta,” Emily, the server, informed me.

I nodded, preparing myself to step out and accept the praise, but then Emily added, “Oh, they specifically asked for Chef Vina.”

My stomach twisted. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, the couple said the dish reminded them of something they had in Italy, and they wanted to compliment her personally.”

Vina turned toward me, her expression unreadable. “I’ll let you take this one if you want.”

My pride flared. “It’s your dish. Go ahead.”

She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and gave me a small, almost-knowing smile before following Emily out to the dining area. The second she was gone, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

This was exactly what I had feared. People were already noticing her. Not just because of her skill, but because of her personality. She had the kind of presence that drew people in effortlessly, while I had spent years trying to be respected for my work alone.

I turned back to my station, the clatter of pots and sizzling of pans filling the air, but for the first time in years, I felt a twinge of uncertainty.

The night ended later than usual. After the last dish was served and the kitchen was spotless, I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit. But as I reached the door, I heard Vina’s voice behind me.

“Leaving without saying goodnight, Chef? How rude.”

I sighed, turning to face her. “Goodnight, Vina.”

She grinned. “There we go, now was that so hard?”

“Do you always have to be this insufferable?”

“It’s part of my charm. You’ll get used to it.”

I rolled my eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying me in a way that made me uncomfortable. “You know, Heidi, you don’t have to see me as your enemy.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Her expression softened for a moment. “Look, I may be annoying in your eyes, but I’m not trying to do anything to outshine you. I just… want to cook. Just like you.”

For a second, I saw something honest in her gaze. But then she smirked again, breaking the moment. “Besides, admit it, working with me makes your job a little less boring.”

I scoffed. “More like ten times harder.”

“I could say the same thing to you.” She winked before stepping past me. “See you tomorrow, Chef.”

I watched her walk away, my frustration still simmering beneath the surface. This woman was going to be the death of me.