All Chapters of His Private Chef: Chapter 71 - Chapter 78

It had been a month since I buried myself in the intensity of my final year, hoping the pressure of deadlines and the heat of stainless steel kitchens could numb everything I still felt for Liam Black.It worked.Sort of.Chef Conrad Wells was another story."Strict" would’ve been generous. "Ruthless" came closer. But if I was being honest, it was personal.He didn’t just critique, he scrutinized. Didn’t just instruct, he hovered. Every move I made, every stir, every garnish, his eyes were there, sharp and waiting, like he wanted me to break.He made me redo a demi-glace three times during a lunch rush.He swapped my partners so often I could never find rhythm. Gave me the toughest meat cuts. Marked me down for presentation issues others got away with. At first, I thought I was imagining it. Maybe I’d forgotten how to take criticism. But deep down, I knew the truth.This had everything to do with Liam.Maybe he’d seen the gossip blogs. The viral clips. The headlines that once plaste

The holiday break didn’t crash in with confetti or leave with fanfare. It just slipped through the cracks– soft, still, and quietly necessary.The days blurred into cold mornings and familiar routines. Just life, moving forward in small, quiet steps.When the semester resumed, everything moved faster than I expected. The final term was a blur of masterclasses, industry panels, timed challenges, capstone presentations, and practicals that ran on caffeine and second winds.There was barely time to think about anything else.Not even him.Well… almost.Sophia sent countdown texts like a wedding planner prepping a bride.“Two weeks to freedom, chef girl.”Lisa, in her usual fashion, scheduled mock interviews with me “for fun,” even though she aced everything. Our nights were filled with laughter that spilled past curfews, and nerves we disguised as caffeine highs. And Kelvin, true to his word, respected the line I’d drawn. His name still lit up my phone sometimes, a funny meme or random

For once, I wasn’t rushing to pack, unpack, survive a heartbreak, or fight my feelings. I was just… existing. A little tired, a little bruised, but undeniably home.After graduation, I took a breath. Then another. My mom cleared her schedule just to spend more time with me. She pushed back her job assignments with that soft smile of hers, saying, “You’ve done enough chasing, baby. Let’s pause and figure out what feels right.”So I paused.No Michelin-star job offers. No chef competitions. Just space. And the quiet to figure out what mattered next.Instead, I leaned into the one thing that kept chasing me, an audience.The Mason tour. The viral photos. The whirlwind of public attention that came with being linked to Liam Black. It all added up to a growing online following–curious, relentless, waiting for my next move. And for the first time, I had something entirely mine to offer.I decided to build something small. Honest. Me.Food vlogging.Nothing too polished. Just stories told th

There’s something strangely healing about building something with your hands, especially when it’s for yourself.The studio was finally coming together. Tripods, soundproofing panels, and ring lights were scattered across the room like puzzle pieces. My new kitchen island gleamed under soft lighting. There was a faint smell of fresh wood and paint, a clean start in every breath.Sophia lay flat on the floor, fanning herself dramatically with the user manual for the camera rig. “I’m just saying… when Liam Black sets you up, he doesn’t play.”“Don’t start,” I warned, tightening a clamp on the boom mic.She sat up with a smirk. “I mean, look at this oven. It’s got Wi-Fi. Does it cook or file your taxes?”My mom chuckled from the doorway, holding a tray of lemon water. “It’s beautiful, Em. Really. This place feels like… you.”I blinked back a sudden wave of emotion. “Yeah. It does.”We were finally done setting up the space I’d dreamed of but never dared to want. It was modern, sleek, and