MIRRORED FATE

Chapter four

Amelia's POV
Today, chaos and calm found me, caused by the same person. He managed to stir up anger in me and calm me down. Here I am, glad that he showed up on that rooftop because I've been keeping it in for four whole years, scared to let it out, trying to hide the pain by overworking. And by just one sentence, he broke me, and his presence changed it all. He is such a perfect stranger. If I were in search of a man, this is exactly what I would be looking for. But no, men tend to change, like that traitor whose name I don't even want in my mouth. Good at first, promising and assuring, and then out of the blue, he leaves you craving for so much more. All the faith you put in him is ruined. You are forced to restart your life from scratch, having no idea where to start.

I thought finding a new job would at least make my life easier. I was totally wrong. Ever since the boss asked me to personally make his dish, the mood around the kitchen changed, and it was only the first day of my being here. It felt like their emotions switched from welcoming to hostile within seconds after the request was directed at me.

The distress I face every five days a week is truly overwhelming. Apart from rent being almost twice as much as at my previous place, my head chef was another piece of bad news. I didn't fit in places like these. From the first day I reported here, I knew I didn't belong. I didn't deserve to work here; I was just lucky. As soon as everyone heard about my so-called promotion, they gave me looks of disbelief. People worked hard to be here. It is a four-star hotel and one of the most luxurious, so being here simply meant you were the best at what you do. They studied for this; they went to the best colleges just for this job, and here I am, without a certificate to prove that I can be a chef in a five-star hotel, hired directly by the boss. To them, I wasn't considered an equal; I was seen as a charity case.

In a way, I wasn't even allowed to touch the kitchen from the moment of the boss's request. It was as if he brought bad luck with him; my job was simply doing the dishes. The dishwasher was just another ornament to them, adding beauty to the kitchen.

According to the head chef, I wasn't fit for their fancy kitchen. Everything I did was wrong in their eyes. It seemed cheap. I agree they had fancy ways of presenting the food that I didn't know, but given a chance, I could have learned quickly. Nothing was done out of the ordinary. To be honest, their food wasn't all that nice; I could tell from the smell of it. I had millions of thoughts in my head as the plates piled up in the sink.

"Stop daydreaming, woman. This isn't a place for that," the head chef snapped me out of my thoughts. "You better work faster, or I suggest you find another job if you want to daydream."

I could see some chefs smiling at his statement. They enjoyed this. They relished every bit of my torment. They took pleasure in watching me stand all day long for ten hours.

It's only the third week, and it feels like an eternity. I don't fully understand why I have to go through this hell. Why me? I was given only ten minutes for lunch each day, while the others alternated taking lunch and enjoyed a full half-hour. They took their time eating and resting. The lunch food prepared was for chefs, and unfortunately, I'm not a chef, so my portion wasn't served.

I decided to skip lunch and use those ten minutes to at least sit down and give my legs a break. It was the only time I eagerly enjoyed at work—lunch break. If only I had other choices, I wouldn't be here. But for my son and mom, I have to stay.

Lunch breaks always pass in a hurry, as if the universe also hates me. I mean, when you look at it, it does. After that, I count three more hours before I can go back home. I'm grateful I have the family I do; at least when I return home, I find my food ready and waiting for me.

"You look tired," Mom said as she set the plates on the table.

"I'm fine; I'm just getting used to the job."