Chapter 1Receipts of Revenge

My ex-boyfriend’s exclusive new restaurant blew up.

And so did his new girlfriend, the one he went public with less than a month after we broke up.

Isabella Carbonari, a food blogger with a million followers.

In her latest livestream, she was nestled in his arms, smiling with an air of effortless grace.

“Honestly,” she said, “Noah’s success wasn’t just about talent. It was about shedding the dead weight from his past.”

The comment section went wild.

[She’s so wise!]

[The idea that you owe your past anything is so outdated! You go, girl!]

I silently closed the stream and pulled out a yellowed, old ledger.

I snapped a photo and posted it to my socials with a simple caption:

[Noah, remember the first pot I bought for our business? It was $12.99. Do you remember?]

* * *

The silence in my tiny studio apartment was broken only by the sound of instant ramen slowly bloating in its bowl.

I was scrolling numbly through my phone when a local food blog’s post popped up.

[This Year’s Breakout Star: Maison Noah and the Artistry of Chef Noah Wells.]

In the photo, he looked sharp and confident in a crisp, white chef’s coat.

I was about to scroll past it.

But another notification immediately followed.

Exclusive Interview: Rising-Star Chef Noah Wells and Food Blogger Isabella Carbonari on How the Right Love Breeds Success.

I tapped on it.

It was a photo of him with his arm around Isabella’s shoulders. They were standing in his restaurant, a space so meticulously designed it looked more like an art gallery.

Good for him.

In the article, Isabella was quoted as saying, “I simply opened a window for him, allowing him to see the vaster, more beautiful sky of the culinary world.”

My phone buzzed. A message in my old college dorm group chat.

Someone had cautiously tagged me.

“Chloe, are you okay?”

Below the message was a link to a livestream.

I stared at it for a long, long time before finally tapping it.

On screen, Noah was dressed in a tailored blazer, looking less like a cook and more like a celebrity. Isabella sat beside him. They really did look perfect together.

The host was smiling. “Chef Wells, to have achieved so much at such a young age must have been incredibly difficult.”

Before Noah could answer, Isabella took his hand. “He’s always been lost in his own world,” she said, her voice soft and melodic. “It’s just that before… no one truly understood him.”

A wave of [Poor baby!] comments drifted across the screen.

I watched, my face blank.

Another message popped up in the group chat.

[Chloe, turn this off. It’s just going to hurt you.]

[What is Isabella trying to say? Who is she shading?]

I typed back: [I’m fine.]

Then I muted the group chat.

The livestream continued.

“So what was the catalyst?” the host asked. “What made you finally decide you had to open this restaurant?”

Noah was silent for a beat.

Again, Isabella answered for him.

“I think it was finally finding someone who could walk beside him, not behind him.”

“The right kind of love,” she mused, “makes you both better people.”

The chat was now a waterfall of [OMG, relationship goals!].

I picked up my fork and lifted a strand of ramen.

It had gone cold. It was disgusting.

I put the fork down, ready to close the app. But just then, the host noticed a trending question from the audience.

“Oh? A viewer is asking, we’ve heard that Chef Wells was in a very long relationship before this. Did that experience have any influence on your current success?”

The studio fell quiet.

Noah’s gaze seemed to travel through the camera, landing somewhere far away.

I held my breath.

Then, I saw Isabella smile. She leaned her head on Noah’s shoulder and said, in that same light, breezy tone:

“Honestly, Noah’s success wasn’t just about talent. It was about shedding the dead weight from his past.”

Dead weight.

She was talking about me.

In that instant, the livestream’s comment section completely lost its mind.