Five Star Michelin | Lee Taeyong x reader

Bastard

"Trust is a fragile thing. Like a diamond, all it takes is a single crack to shatter it into pieces that can never be fixed."

You stood outside of Ncity, looking at the sign above. It felt as if you were rooted to the spot, you couldn't move. You were afraid, afraid you would be right, afraid that when you walked in there your suspicions could possibly be confirmed.

They practically already were, since Taemin had ordered the dish from Ncity to test it out, and it had tasted the exact same. No difference.

You took in a shaky breath, walked up to the door and was greeted by the maître d, Yangyang, "Miss L/n! Good to see you again! Table for how many?"

"Table for non", you said curtly, "I need to talk to Taeyong."

"Actually you can't-"

"Tell him it's Y/n", you interrupted him, "It's important."

Yangyang opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it, telling you to wait there while he fetched the man you had requested to speak with. You stuffed your hands in your pockets, not knowing how to react, or even what you were going to say.

What were you even supposed to say?

You spotted him walking out of the kitchen, a smile stretching out on his lips as he saw you, walking over. It felt worse all of a sudden, now you had to confront him, you had to talk about it, and that would make it real.

"Hey, whats up?", he asked, leaning down to steal a kiss, but you moved away. "Don't", you said, voice brittle. "I need to talk to you."

He frowned, confused, but obliged, leading you to a storage room in the back of the restaurant, turning to you, his expression akin to a lost puppy. You hated it, the way he seemed so okay, so fine. You looked around the storage room, "Do you have cream cheese?"
He raised an eyebrow, "What?"

"Cream cheese, oh and caramel, chocolate too", you said, narrowing your eyes at him. "You do have that here right?"
He looked confused, "Y/n I don-"

"You should fucking have it since you made my desert", you hissed, glaring at him.

Taeyong paled, staring at you like you were an apparition. "I don-"

"Don't you dare try and act innocent", you said, "Or did you not read everything that's been going around?"

He looked completely oblivious, which made you furious. "Fine", you spat, "I'll fill you in, hmm?", you walked up to him, "You told Tahmina Aamani that you came up with a desert, that happens to be the exact same desert that I made. She recognized it."

Taeyong's eyes widened, he looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Or rather he didn't want to. You partially wondered what pathetic excuse he'd give to explain himself, but that excuse never came. Instead he just stared at you dumbfoundedly like an idiot.

"Now I get it if we both thought of the same ingredients. And made something completely different, but it was a tart as well? And it tasted the fucking same Taeyong, how do you explain that? Don't you think that's far too many coincidences?"

That was it, maybe if it was a cheesecake, or something completely different. Maybe if it was different, even in the slightest way, you would've moved on, you would've somehow convinced yourself it was a coincidence. But now you needed him to tell you.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, not looking at you.

"SAY SOMETHING DAMNIT!", your voice was louder now, "Defend yourself, tell me you haven't done it."

At this point it seemed as if you were begging him to prove you wrong, you wanted to be wrong, so bad. You wanted to believe that he would never do anything like that to you. It was a false sense of hope.

"Please", you added, voice softer, as if you were tired. "Please tell me I'm wrong Taeyong."

You don't know what hurt more, the fact that you knew you were right, or the fact he stayed silent. That silence told you all you needed to know.

You staggered backwards, leaning against one of the storage racks. "Do you know what you've done?", you asked, "A scandal. You've thrown me into a scandal, under all the cameras and the lights and the attention. I'm a liar and a thief in their eyes"

"And you know how much I hate the attention", your lower lip trembled, making you want to scream. "And I'm not the one at fault."

You felt betrayed, so betrayed. You had trusted Taeyong, you let him in, you gave him a chance. You even fell for him, but now? Now it felt like you were falling into a chasm with rocks at the bottom, ready to hurt you.

But you were already so hurt.

You buried your face in your hands, "Please tell me I'm being paranoid, tell me I'm being stupid. Tell me something."

You pressed the palm of your hands into your eyes, pressing into them, trying to not cry. It hurt, and you hated that it hurt. You didn't want it to hurt. You wanted to glare at him, and accuse him and be done with it. But you couldn't, you cared too damn much.

Don't cry, you told yourself, pressing harder, dont fucking cry.

Crying was something you hated, you didn't want to cry in front of him because it showed how weak you were, how much you actually cared. Tears meant attachment, they meant feelings and you just had yours ripped apart.

"I'm sorry", he whispered, and you wanted to scream, you wanted to slap him, because he had just admitted to the very thing you wanted him to deny, with a futile sounding apology. His voice was so soft, like he knew what he had done. Then again, if he knew, why did he do it?

An empty sounding sob left your lips. It was much more than just the fact he stole your recipe and used it to his advantage. No, it went much deeper than that. You had trusted him, you let him in. You listened to your heart, even when your head told you not to.

"No", you muttered pathetically, "No, you're supposed to tell me I'm wrong. Please tell me I'm wrong."

Taeyong stood there foolishly, watching as you slowly fell apart in front of him. He hated himself for it, he knew it would hurt you, but he did it anyway, he went ahead just so he could prove himself worthy of someone who didn't even care for him. And you were here, someone he cared for, someone who cared for him.

"I'm sorry", he repeated, not knowing what else to say. What could he say? Would it even matter anymore?

I hate you, your mind droned on, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. It was on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason you couldn't say it. You physically couldn't say it, it was as if the phrase had vanished from your vocabulary all together.

You didn't hate him. You hated the fact you didn't.

Your face was wet, you realized you had succumbed to crying after all. What did he expect to do with a feeble apology? You sniffled, wiping your nose with your wrist. You didn't like that it hurt this much, more than you anticipated.

"I was right", you muttered bitterly, "You really are a bastard after all."