Kitchen War Novels & Stories

“To be so cruel to a fellow chef, in a field in which we all struggle to make it work, day in and day out. We should be friends, allies, not… whatever this is.” Daniel’s smirk doesn’t falter; instead, it’s as if my words only fueled his fire. “Friends? Allies?” He laughs out loud, throwing his head back. “Do you even hear yourself, Abby? This isn’t Barbie’s Dream House. You can’t ‘save the day’ with friendship and ponies and rainbows. Maybe that’s how it works in your little female brain, but here? The kitchen is a battlefield. And you, Abby, aren’t wearing any armor.”

No, it’s utterly impossible. Above everything, I refuse to believe that a warlord who had spent almost all his life on the warfronts, ripping apart nothing but the flesh and bones of the enemies, would have cooked such an outstanding Parmesan dish. Even the kitchen maids back in my Father’s Pack, and both the School aren’t this good! I refuse to believe… No! I won’t. The meal is just too good to be a work of art… At least not from a fierce warrior who knows nothing about the kitchen and its utensils… Not as if the cooking spoon is a spear or a viciously sharpened blade.

But deep down, I knew peace wouldn’t last long—not with Archer King under the same roof. We walked through another set of doors into the kitchen, and I stopped in awe. The kitchen was huge. It had marble counters, shelves full of shining pots and pans, and the smell of freshly baked bread hung in the air. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows, reflecting off every clean surface.

Ugh, Jake. When I finally found the food factory, I was shocked to say the least. It was the most elaborate kitchen I’d ever seen. Expensive knives shone brightly when I turned on the lights. The counters were a beautiful marble without a single blemish. It was so neat, I mentally applauded her. If I lived alone, my kitchen would look like a war zone. I pulled out a few ingredients for spaghetti from her huge gray fridge and got to cooking. Once the smoke extractor came on, I started the sauce.

She carefully placed her bag on the counter and turned to the assembled chefs, her tone firm yet friendly. "Please, stay aside and allow me to work. I don't want any interruptions," she instructed, her eyes meeting each chef's gaze with determination. The chefs nodded in understanding, impressed by Kaylar's dedication to cooking. With the kitchen to herself, Kaylar began her culinary masterpiece. Using an array of ingredients from the market, she skillfully chopped, mixed, and sautéed, the sizzling sounds and enticing aroma filling the kitchen. She poured her heart into each dish, determined to prepare a spread of delicious food for herself and Wayne.

He was so hopelessly oblivious that for a second, I wondered if he even realized we’d been bombed, or if he just thought the universe was personally attacking his coordination. “Careful,” he whimpered, his voice high and thin. “The floor… it’s very… uneven.” “It’s a war zone, you idiot!” I dragged him toward the industrial kitchen doors. We burst through the swinging steel panels into a different kind of hell. The kitchen staff was in a state of total panic. Pots of boiling water had been tipped over, steam hissed from broken pipes, and the smell of scorched grease was suffocating. “Out the back! Move!” Roxanne’s voice boomed from the distance, sharp as a whip.

I cried out in pain, in a desperate attempt to save my life. “You should have thought twice before plotting against Fenrir and me,” Damien growled and pushed me to the wall. I collided against the wall, my face covered in blood, could barely see anything. I wiped my face with my hand, and finally, I saw a sword on his bed. Rushing to his bed, I picked up the sword and charged at him, driving the sword through his stomach. I pulled the sword out, and Damien’s lifeless body fell to the ground. I stood there, my bloody hands trembling. “I just killed an alpha.”

Frowning, I pulled on a light silk robe over my nightgown and padded barefoot out of the bedroom, down the grand hallway. As I approached the kitchen, a rich, mouthwatering aroma reached me—fresh espresso, melting butter, and toasted brioche. I stepped into the doorway and froze. Standing in front of the massive marble stove, wearing nothing but a pair of dark trousers and a plain black t-shirt, was Kai. His dark hair was slightly messy, his sleeves pushed up, and he was currently flipping pancakes in a pan with surprisingly practiced ease. I stared at him in complete disbelief. Kai Valentino? In a kitchen? Cooking?

I don't think anyone can see inside the kitchen with that thick fog. I heard the sound of footsteps, and I turned to see one of the Omegas approaching with a fire extinguisher. With a quick flick of his wrist, the Omega activated the fire extinguisher and began to sweep the nozzle back and forth. The other Omegas joined in, and within minutes, the thick smoke began to clear. As it did, the kitchen came into view, and I caught a glimpse of what was inside the kitchen. The sight made my heart sink. From the clean, sparkling kitchen I had, it became a kitchen with blackened walls. The kitchen cabinets became warped. Even the cooker was covered in soot, and the pot on the burner had turned from

There was only one other person in the apartment. "Ares?" I called out, my voice tight. ... Ares While Kia was occupied in the bathroom, I had a clipboard in hand and a mission to complete. I had decided that failure in the kitchen was no longer an option. Just yesterday, I bought a cookbook with "Beginner Friendly" stamped across the cover in bright letters. "The CEO of Vueravista does not do average," I muttered, flipping past pictures of salads. "She is not going to find out I can't cook a proper meal. Master Chef Ares starts today."