Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 129

Abby

The knock on the door interrupts my pity party, and for a split second, I debate whether or not to even answer it.

But before I can make up my mind, the door creaks open and I catch the sight in the vanity mirror—Karl, his blue surgical mask lowered, his brown eyes shining and a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Karl?” My voice trembles. Seeing him makes my guard lower, and I can feel my shoulders relax. “I saw you in the audience, and I—”

He steps further into the room, letting the door close softly behind him. “I bought a ticket secretly. I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to surprise you,” he says, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I feel a smile spreading across my lips. “Thank you. But…” I pause, taking in his appearance. “What’s with the surgical mask?”

Karl chuckles and tugs on the blue mask. “This? Don’t take it the wrong way, but I didn’t want anyone recognizing me. I’m supposed to be an Alpha, you know? Not hanging out in my ex-wife’s city and helping with her restaurant.”

I nod, recalling one of our first discussions when he came to help me. Even most of the staff at the restaurant doesn’t know about our history.

“You were fantastic out there, Abby,” he says, taking another step closer. “And that last thing you said about the staff? It was really touching.”

Warmth spreads through me at his words, the tenderness in his voice acting like a balm on my raw emotions. “Thank you. I didn’t expect you to be in the audience. It means a lot that you’re here, Karl.”

He starts to walk over, probably to hand me the bouquet, but then he notices. The red-rimmed eyes, the streaked makeup—undeniable signs of tears.

Instantly, the flowers drop to the floor, abandoned, and he’s in front of me in two strides. His hands grip me by both arms, his eyes searching my face.

“Abby, what happened? Why are you crying?” Concern fills his eyes, shadowing the happiness that was just there a moment ago.

For a moment, I consider sticking with my initial impulse to downplay everything. I know Karl, and I know how he’ll react if he finds out what Daniel said.

“It’s nothing,” I say, taking a step back. But the way Karl looks at me, with such heartfelt concern and confusion, breaks down my feeble barriers.

He steps closer, the air between us thickening, charged with a mix of emotions. “Nothing doesn’t make you cry, Abby. Please, tell me.”

My eyes dart around the room—past Karl, to the wilted flowers on the floor, to the empty chairs—as if they might offer some form of escape. But in the end, it’s the look in Karl’s eyes that makes me break down.

“It was Daniel,” I finally admit, my voice no more than a whisper. “I overheard him talking about me, saying that I’m not a real chef, just a fangirl and a homemaker who relies on male chefs to get by.”

Karl’s face hardens. “He said what? That’s ridiculous!”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know. Is it really? Or don’t you think that he might be onto something.

His eyes widen in shock. He reaches out, his hand cupping my face gently, the touch light but infinitely reassuring. I find myself leaning my cheek into his palm, as though the barriers between us are nonexistent now.

“Abby, listen,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking my cheek. “You are one of the most talented, passionate chefs I know. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”

His words should be comforting, and they are, but they also unleash a flood of feelings I’ve been holding back.

“I’ve just… I’ve worked so hard, you know?” I murmur. “But it’s like you can never escape the judgment. If it’s not because you’re a woman, then it’s because your restaurant is too inclusive, or your staff isn’t Michelin-star quality, or some other ridiculous thing. It’s so fucking exhausting.”

Karl’s other arm wraps around me, pulling me close, and it’s like a dam bursts forth inside of me. I melt into him, allowing myself this moment of weakness, because I know he understands; he understands the exhaustion, the constant uphill battle, the weight of unfair judgments.

“I’m just so tired of it, Karl,” I murmur into his chest, a sob quaking my body.

Karl holds me for a few long moments, his hand rubbing my back as I sob into his chest. But when the sobs finally subside, and I slowly lift my head to look up at him, his gaze is fixed sternly on the wall behind us.

“I’ll handle this,” he says, his eyes narrowed and jaw set in a way that sends a jolt of worry through me.

“No, Karl, don’t—” But it’s too late. Extricating himself from me, he tugs his mask back over his face. Then he’s out the door, the bouquet of flowers still lying forgotten on the floor.

My heart pounds in my chest as I race after him, my feet barely touching the carpet. I round the corner to see him already confronting Daniel, who’s standing near the food table in the main room where the other contestants, their friends and families, and various staff are milling about.

There’s a plastic smile frozen on his face, but it fades as Karl storms up to her.

“What gives you the right to badmouth Abby?” Karl’s voice cuts through the air like a knife, and everyone, contestants and crew alike, turns to look.

“Excuse me? And who might you be?” Daniel sneers, taking in Karl’s surgical mask and casual clothes.

“This isn’t about who I am; this is about you and how you treat others,” Karl says, his voice laced with disapproval.

Daniel laughs, a hollow sound that does nothing to hide the edge in his voice. “I think everyone would like to know who's hiding behind the mask before we can take him seriously.”

Karl takes a step forward, undeterred. “Seriously? Maybe you should be taking your rivals more seriously. Abby is a brilliant chef, and what are you? A high school bully?”

Daniel rolls his eyes, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty there. “Well, if she’s so brilliant, why isn’t she defending herself?” he asks, his gaze sliding coolly over to me. “Why does she need a man to come to her rescue?”

“Abby doesn’t need me to defend her,” Karl counters, “but when someone as unprofessional and rude as you starts slinging mud, it becomes everyone’s problem. Even during your interview, your self-absorption shined through like a spotlight. You’re a narcissist.”

A hush falls over the room, so heavy it’s almost palpable. I can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, and my cheeks flush in humiliation. Then, just as I think I might drown in the deafening silence, another voice speaks up.

“Actually, I’m with Abby and the mystery man,” Vanessa suddenly says, rising from her chair. Her voice is calm but firm, like the eye of a storm. “As contestants, I expect all of you to treat each other with respect. Understood?”

The room remains silent, everyone now turning their eyes toward Vanessa, who has somehow become the new focal point of the room. She walks over to where Karl and Daniel are standing, effectively placing herself between them, as though forming a barrier.

“And frankly,” she says, staring pointedly at Daniel, “you’re lucky I don’t give you a formal warning for gossipy behavior.”

For a moment, nobody says anything. It’s as if Vanessa’s words have sucked all the air out of the room. Finally, Daniel tilts his chin up defiantly, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before turning away.

“Hmph,” he mutters, his shoes clicking against the floor as he stalks away, his exit as dramatic as everything else about him.

Finally, with Daniel gone, the focus shifts again. Now it’s on me, standing in the doorway, with my tear-streaked makeup and a stray flower petal stuck to the side of my shoe.

And I have no idea what to say.