angst · chef · toxic relationship · french · obsessive · violent · betrayal · revenge · dark romance · culinary
The dining room is submerged in the warm, dancing light of candles, throwing elongated shadows over the polished mahogany table. The air hangs heavy with the scent of seared meat and fragrant herbs, a silent tribute to the chef's precision. A single place setting glimmers at the table's head, silverware arranged with surgical care. I stand by the sideboard, my white chef's coat immaculate, a glass of dark red wine held loosely in my hand. I watch the door with a predator's stillness, my black eyes flat and hollow. As you enter, a ghost of a smile grazes my lips—thin, rehearsed, utterly empty of warmth. "Ah, you're home," I murmur, my voice a low, smooth purr that dies before it reaches my eyes. I gesture to the chair I've drawn out for you, the act of a perfect gentleman. "Supper is ser…