Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Abby
The stage lights feel even more blinding now from the tears in my eyes. A
makeup artist darts around, dabbing my face with powder to cover the streaks
from crying. In more ways than one, I’m glad this hell is almost over; right now,
I’m just looking forward to getting this damn makeup off.
Finally, the director counts down from three, and it feels as though we’ve done
this a million times before. The crowd cheers, the music plays, the announcer
struts across the stage. And me? I’m standing here like a statue, my smile just
as fake as my manicured eyelashes.
Enter title...
Daniel stands next to me, shoulder to shoulder, and I can feel the hatred
emanating off of him. He stands tall and proud, the perfect picture of arrogance.
He doesn’t say a word to me, because he doesn’t need to. He already said
everything he needed to say earlier. He got his digs in, made his sharp words
stab me to my core. There’s no point now.
I can sense the satisfaction coursing through his veins as he stands beside me,
the realization that he won—not just in the competition, but in life—washing over
both of us. In just a few minutes, he’ll get exactly what he wants. Not only a
trophy, but to beat a woman down to nothing.
The announcer turns to Daniel first, his voice echoing across the studio. “Daniel,

you’ve shown immense skill throughout this competition. As we come to a close,
how are you feeling about your performance?”
Daniel’s lips twist into a smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his
eyes.
“Confident,” he says without skipping a beat. “The true winner today will be
more than just a lovable personality...” he sneers subtly, casting a sidelong
glance at me. “He will be a skilled chef.”
The message is clear, and the gleam in his eye is sharp, almost predatory.
Heat creeps up into my cheeks as the crowd applauds. The announcer then
turns to me, his eyes meeting mine. “Abby, you’ve become a favorite for many
during this competition. Tell us, what has this experience meant to you?”
My gaze lifts to the audience, to the sea of faces that seem to blur together into
one. There are fewer signs with my name now thanks to my failures, and the
realization leaves a hole in my chest.
But then, there she is—the little girl in the third row with her chef’s hat falling into

her eyes. Her eyes are just as wide and bright as ever, and she still holds up her
little sign in her tiny hand, a grin spread across her face.
I can feel the lump in my throat, but I push through... because I’m reminded of
why I’m here, even if I don’t win.
I’m here for her.
“This competition,” I start, my voice surprisingly steady, “has been an
extraordinary journey. As a female chef in this incredible, challenging field, I’m
just happy to have been here. To show that we—” I pause, my heart in my
throat, “—that I can stand toe to toe with the best.”
I take a breath, the air tasting thick. “And maybe, just maybe,” I continue, “my
presence here will inspire others. That future female chefs will push even
harder, making sure our skills—and our voices—are not only recognized, but
also respected.”
There’s a ripple through the crowd, a murmur of acknowledgment, of support,
maybe. Or maybe it’s just the sound of anticipation as everyone waits for the

results.
The announcer’s voice then cuts through the murmurings.
“And the winner is...” His eyes flick to the judges as he pulls a small red
envelope out of his pocket.
My breath catches. Logan’s eyes lock onto mine, his expression an unreadable
mask. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even blink. Instead, his head gives the faintest
of shakes, and my world seems to tilt for what feels like the millionth time today.
Vanessa, once my champion, now looks on with a cool detachment. She
catches my eyes for the briefest of moments before she leans toward Logan,
whispering something, her head inclining toward me in a nod so slight it could
have been a trick of the light.
My hands are trembling. I can’t look at Daniel, can’t afford to see the smirk I
know is there. Instead, I find the little girl in the crowd, her eyes wide with hope,
and I draw strength from her innocence, her belief in me.
“And the winner is...” The pause hangs for what feels like an eternity before he
finally speaks, as though drawing it out for dramatic effect. And then, drawing
the card out of the envelope he reads it and his gaze lifts up to the crowd.
“Daniel.”
The sound of his name, amplified by speakers and followed by the sudden
thunderous applause, seems to suck the oxygen right out of the room. The

edges of my vision seem to blur and for a heartbeat, or maybe an eternity, I feel
like I’m not in my own body.
It’s as if I’m watching from afar, like I’m the little girl in the crowd, and I’m seeing
my idol become crushed into nothingness right before my very eyes.
I don’t even mean to, but I’m clapping. I’m putting on the smile, the facade for
the camera. It feels mechanical. It feels like there are invisible strings directing
my movements. I want to cry, but I can’t.
After all, tears will ruin my perfect makeup, right?
The announcer carries a gleaming trophy across the stage and hands it to
Daniel, who holds it like a piece of treasure in his hands.
“Daniel,” the announcer says once the cheers have died down, “perhaps your
confidence wasn’t unfounded, don’t you think?”
To him, it will be forgotten before he knows it.
“I’m always confident,” he says into the microphone, his sickening voice echoing
across the studio. “And that’s exactly why I always win.” Content belongs to
The announcer grins and lets out a laugh of his own, then turns back to face the
crowd.
“And that, folks, is the end of this year’s Alpha party cook-off. Let’s give another
round of applause to our winner, Daniel!”
And as Daniel holds the trophy above his head, the glass catching the light, it

glints in my eyes in a way that’s completely blinding. The rest of the world
seems to fall into shadow.