The small kitchen was hot and steamy, but Cinder loved it. It was her own little world. The sizzle of garlic in a pan was her favorite sound. She lived with her stepmother, Lucy, and stepsister, Darla. Her father was gone, and now Cinder worked hard to support them. She worked all day at a local café. At night, she cooked their dinner. Lucy and Darla never said thank you. They just made more demands.
"This soup is boring, Cinder!" Darla shouted from the living room. "Can't you make something better?"
"Be quiet, Darla," Lucy said. She turned to Cinder. "Just make sure dessert is sweet. And don't use the expensive sugar."
Cinder nodded quietly. She was used to their meanness. Cooking was her only escape. She loved creating tasty meals from simple, cheap ingredients. It felt like magic.
Later that night, she was looking at recipes on her old phone. An advertisement popped up. "Wanted: A Personal Chef for Clovis Blackwood." Cinder's heart jumped. Everyone knew that name. He was one of the richest men in the city. He was also famous for being cold and arrogant. The job was to live in his mansion and cook only for him. The salary was huge. It was more money than Cinder could imagine.
This was her chance. A chance for a new life.
"I am going to apply for this job," she told Lucy and Darla.
Lucy laughed. It was a cruel, sharp sound. "You? Cook for Clovis Blackwood? Don't be a fool. A man like him will hire a famous chef. Not a nobody like you."
"You will embarrass us," Darla sneered. "Just stay in the kitchen where you belong."
Their words were like knives. Cinder looked at the fancy new purse Lucy was holding. She had bought it with Cinder's money. Anger and courage mixed inside her. She would not listen to them. She would try.
She used her secret savings to buy one good chicken, fresh rosemary, and real butter. She would make her best dish: roasted chicken with garlic and herbs, with creamy mashed potatoes.
The next day, she stood before the Blackwood mansion. It was a giant, modern castle of glass and metal. It looked beautiful, but also cold and lonely. Just like the man who lived there. Her hands were shaking.
Inside, many chefs were preparing food. They had shiny, expensive equipment. Cinder had her simple bowl and her own knives.
In a quiet office high above, Clovis Blackwood watched the chefs on a video screen. His face showed no emotion. He was bored. One by one, chefs presented their fancy dishes. He took a tiny taste of each. He dismissed them all with a nod. Nothing was special.
Then, a simple plate was placed before him. It held roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. It looked plain. He sighed and took a small bite.
Flavor filled his mouth. The chicken was juicy and perfect. The potatoes were smooth and comforting. It tasted like… home. It was a feeling he had forgotten.
He sat up straight. He was suddenly very interested. He looked at the screen. Who made this? He saw a young woman with a kind, nervous face. She was cleaning her simple tools.
He pressed a button on his desk. "Bring me the chef named Cinder," he told his assistant.
His cold, gray eyes were now full of interest. He watched only her.