Chapter 2
I knew Sophia didn’t truly care about desserts; she just wanted the empty title of Dessert Princess. Yet I didn’t stop her, nodding reluctantly. After all, I owed Oliver a debt, and this was my repayment.
But I was too naive. I thought stepping out of the competition would make Oliver let me go. Yet he accused me of using addictive poppy pods, destroying Grandpa’s century-old dessert reputation overnight.
I furiously demanded why he did it, but he calmly replied.
“You are talented and have the family recipe. You can easily make a comeback. But Sophia has nothing; I must clear all obstacles for her.”
“I’m sorry, Mia. I owe her, and I must repay this debt. I’ll spend my life compensating you.”
He imprisoned me in the basement, only letting me out for dessert competitions, facing public scorn and repeatedly losing to Sophia.
Oliver Thompson, you owe her, and I owe you. So this time, I’ll repay you and owe you nothing more.
I closed my eyes, awaiting the torment. Seeing Sophia standing opposite me at the dessert station, the host announced the start of the competition. Under eager gazes, Sophia began separating egg whites and yolks. I stood still, lost in thought.
The audience grew dissatisfied.
“What’s going on? Can she even make desserts?”
“Haha, lost 99 times and still here. She cheated her way to the dessert master’s title. Shameless!”
“If you can’t, just get off the stage!”
Oliver, nearest to me, walked over displeased, lowering his voice.
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you making desserts yet?”
I trembled, biting my lip as I explained.
“I don’t have hands anymore. Can’t you let me go?”
Oliver seemed to find it funny.
“Mia, aren’t you overdramatic? You’ve lived a pampered life in my villa’s basement for three years. Everyone respects you. I even instructed the butler to take good care of your hands, and you’re still lying!”
Sophia softly chimed in.
“Oliver, don’t push Mia. She must be upset because I stole the spotlight. Maybe I should withdraw from the competition.”
Saying this, she pretended to untie her apron and leave, eyes red. The audience erupted in anger, cursing and throwing things at me.
The insults grew louder, and I saw the bullet comments on the live stream, all cursing me. But I truly had no hands; how could I make desserts? I was about to show my sleeves to prove it when Sophia grabbed my mangled arm, squeezing it.
“Mia, your hands are perfectly fine. Why make excuses?”
I met Sophia’s malicious, satisfied gaze. She had cut off my hands, yet dared say such things!
Before I could explain, Oliver slapped me hard.
“If you keep pretending, I’ll reveal Grandpa’s dessert recipe right now. Get serious and compete!”
I looked at him in disbelief, my body going rigid. He knew that Grandpa’s dessert recipe, written stroke by stroke, was a crucial confidential kept in our safe deposit box. Yet he stole and gave it to Sophia. How could he insult Grandpa’s legacy like this!
I asked, my voice shaking.
“Oliver Thompson, have you forgotten how good Grandpa was to you? How can you threaten me with him!”
Oliver averted his eyes, guilty.
“Don’t play the sympathy card. There’s no room for emotions on the stage. I’m always fair.”
Always fair? How laughable.
He wanted me to lose to Sophia publicly once more, because this competition was different. The winner would receive the International Dessert Competition Grand Prize, the most prestigious award.
But without Grandpa’s dessert recipe, how could I win?
At this moment, anger surged through me. I wanted to fight them, but feared he’d harm Grandpa’s dessert recipe. If it were lost, the Johnson family’s craft would truly be gone.
“Please don’t do this. I’ll compete. I’ll compete, okay?”