Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 139

Abby

The stage lights are blinding, but I try to focus on the announcer standing across from me. His voice reverberates through the microphone as he begins his script.

“Ladies and Gentlemen… Welcome to the annual Alpha party cooking competition! I’m your host, Heinrich Williams, and today I’m proud to announce…”

One by one, the contestants and judges are introduced. Their faces are projected onto giant screens that hang above us, and with each announcement, the audience cheers and applauds excitedly. The announcer then asks each person a couple of questions, giving them time to promote themselves before the show begins.

As I’m waiting for my turn, though, all I can feel is crippling, soul-crushing fear. How do I look? How will the audience respond? What will I say when it’s my turn to talk? I wasn’t expecting all of this, and all I can think is that maybe if I had showed up on time this morning, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling so unprepared.

But all the while, Karl stands beside me, steady as a rock. When I glance over at him, I catch his brown eyes glinting in the light of the stage lights, and something about it is grounding.

In an odd way, I’m almost glad to have him here. I thought that it would be a disaster not to have John by my side, but this feels like a happy accident. My wolf roils inside of me at his presence, attracted to his scent and closeness as if he’s a lifeline in a stormy sea.

“And now,” the announcer booms, pulling me back to reality, “a chef who captured your hearts with her interview yesterday. With her unconventional staff and eloquent words about inclusivity in the culinary world—please give a warm welcome to Abby!”

Suddenly, the crowd erupts into cheers, louder and more excitedly than I could have ever imagined.

I blink in surprise.

Signs, actual signs with my name on them, being held up by people in the audience. The word ‘Abby’ is written in colorful letters, hearts dotting the ‘i’ in phrases like “Go Abby!” and “Team Abby”.

I feel Karl nudge my arm gently, a signal for me to step forward. My shoes click against the stage floor as I move stiffly toward the microphone, my heart still racing but now in a different way than before.

Is it true? Do people… really like me?

“Welcome, Abby,” the announcer says with a wide grin as I approach, outstretching his arm. “Say a few words for your fans.”

As I lean in, ready to speak, my eyes drift across the stage and land on Daniel. He’s stationed a few yards from me, and I can see the disdain etched into his features, his lips curling into a sneer.

For a fleeting second, I wonder if I should adjust my speech to throw shade his way. It would be so satisfying, to see his sneer turn into a pout, to see his shoulders slump in defeat as he gets called out publicly for his nasty comments.

But I can’t; that’s not me, and it’s definitely not why I’m here. Why stoop to her level?

I draw a deep breath and let it out slowly, steadying myself by gripping the mic tightly.

“Wow,” I breathe, my voice bouncing back at me from the echo in the room in a jarring way. There’s a bit of mic feedback from standing too close, and the room falls silent. All eyes are on me. I clear my throat, feeling my face get unbearably hot.

Glancing at the announcer, he merely grins and nods, mouthing the words, “Go on.”

I take another deep breath. “F-First of all, thank you…” I pause again, noticing the tremor in my voice. “Thank you… for the amazing welcome,” I manage to continue. “I’m… I’m honestly…”

Suddenly, I feel frozen again. The crowd looks at me expectantly. The announcer grins at me, unwavering, but I can see a sense of urgency in his eyes. I’m taking too long. In the corner of my eye, I can see Daniel standing there, his arms folded, his mouth a smirk. Behind him, I can see the judges, staring at me with cold looks in their eyes.

But Daniel and the judges aren’t the only ones here. I glance up, seeing the signs that my ‘fans’ are holding up, the grins on their faces.

I see Vanessa sitting with the other judges, a cool but supportive look in her eyes.

I see Karl standing by himself, hands in his pockets, nodding slowly at me.

And up ahead, I see a little girl.

A little girl with a costume chef’s hat on. It’s a little too big for her head, causing it to fall into her eyes. She pushes it up out of her face, shooting me a toothless grin as she holds up a handmade sign that reads, in haphazard crayon…

“ABBY, U R MY HERO!”

Tears come to my eyes, but I blink them away. Suddenly, I’ve found my voice again. I clear my throat, stand up straight, and start to speak.

“I want to say how grateful I am to stand here as a woman in a profession that has long been dominated by men. And not just as a woman, but as someone who believes in the power of diversity, of giving chances to those who are often overlooked.”

I pause, choosing my words carefully. “But it’s not just about me,” I continue, “it’s about all of us here. The incredible chefs who have come to compete, the staff who make this show possible, and you—the audience, who make us want to be better.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daniel roll his eyes, his scowl deepening. For a moment, I contemplate going further, confronting his negativity right here and now, but that won’t work here. It’s not right. It’s not me.

“Again, thank you for all of the love,” I continue, “but please, I ask you to extend the same love to my opponents—no, not my opponents, but rather my partners, my fellow chefs—because, at the end of the day, we’re all here for the same reason: to celebrate the art of cooking, to challenge ourselves, and most of all, to engage in a friendly competition.”

A tidal wave of applause and cheers takes over the studio. I lean back from the microphone, my eyes sweeping across the faces of the audience, then to my fellow contestants, and lastly to Karl, who gives me an approving nod.

“No matter who takes home the prize today,” I add, “what truly matters is that we come together as a community, cheering each other on, despite our hang-ups and reservations. That’s the real victory, and it’s one we can all share.”

My eyes meet Daniel’s once more. He’s still scowling at me, but I suddenly don’t care anymore. Because to me, the most important thing is that little girl in the audience—her hat too big for her head, her grin missing teeth, and her heart full of admiration. And even if I don’t win today, I will try my hardest… for her.

The announcer grins, taking the microphone back. “What a lovely speech,” he begins, to which there’s another round of cheers before he continues. “Abby, the crowd clearly loves you, but we’re all dying to know— who is your sous chef for today?”

My eyes dart to Karl, whose eyes glint in the lights.

“He goes by the name ‘Ken,’” I say. “If you all don’t mind, he has asked to keep his identity private for the duration of this competition.”

A hush falls over the crowd. But much to my surprise, the announcer’s grin only stretches wider, his eyes twinkling with delight. “Ah, a mystery! Our viewers are going to love this. What a fun twist to the show!”

The crowd murmurs excitedly, and I glance at Karl again. He nods subtly, approving of my choice of words. The announcer sends me back to my station, and Karl nudges me, shooting me a thumbs-up under the table.

But I can’t help but wonder… With all of this love, all of this intrigue, what will happen if I disappoint my ‘fans’ today?

However, I have to push these thoughts aside, reminding myself that I need to focus. The show is about to begin, and I can’t be thinking about potential failure. Not now.

“And now, for the first course!” the announcer booms, opening an envelope with a flourish. “Let’s see here… Ah! Today, our chefs will prepare…”

The studio seems to fall silent, but my heart pounds so loud I’m sure they could hear it all the way in the back of the audience.

“...A classic first course… Duck Pâté en Croûte!”

I let out a sigh of relief. I know this dish like the back of my hand; I must have practiced it a hundred times over the past months.

“Chefs,” the announcer continues, “you have one hour! And the timer begins…”

He glances at the massive clock on the wall, his finger poised over the button that will set the kitchen into chaos.

“...Now!”