Chapter 24
“Power is really simple,” Taeha said calmly as he handed back her phone.
“From now on, I’m behind you. No one can touch you. Not even your family.”
“……”
Sorim tightly gripped the phone she had taken back.
Song Taeha was a shield much stronger than she had expected.
But sometimes, that huge shield felt like a prison wall—
a wall that separated her from the world.
He wasn’t protecting her.
He was managing something that belonged to him.
“…Thank you.”
Sorim forced down her complicated feelings and answered shortly.
Taeha checked his watch and stood up.
“I’ll take you. Let’s go.”
“No, it’s okay. The driver is here, so—”
“There will be reporters outside the restaurant.
If you go alone, it’s like throwing yourself to them.”
His guess was right.
As they got close to the restaurant, reporters were everywhere.
When his sedan stopped, they rushed over like a swarm of bees.
“Vice President Song! Congratulations on your marriage!”
“Please show us the bride!”
“Is the love story true?”
Flashes went off nonstop.
It was so bright Sorim could barely see.
It was her first time in a situation like this.
When Sorim shrank back in fear, Taeha took her hand.
His hand was large and warm.
“Hold your head up. Walk confidently.”
He got out of the car and escorted her.
In front of countless cameras, Taeha wrapped an arm firmly around Sorim’s waist and walked toward the entrance.
Even the reporters stepped aside at his confident attitude.
It felt like walking on a red carpet.
But Sorim knew.
This spotlight was not hers.
It was only the light created by Song Taeha standing beside her.
‘This is a show. A perfect show.’
Sorim carefully controlled her expression and looked straight ahead, avoiding the cameras.
As soon as they entered the restaurant, the noise outside disappeared.
“Phew…”
Sorim’s legs went weak.
Taeha supported her.
“…I’m glad you were with me.”
For a moment, Taeha’s lips curved upward.
Then his face returned to normal.
“Go inside. I’ll come pick you up when work is over.”
“…Thank you for today.”
“But remember this.”
His voice became firm.
“You must not get used to this kitchen anymore.”
“……”
“Yoon Sorim is my wife.
Not some restaurant assistant.”
“…Mr. Taeha.”
“I’m going.”
Watching him disappear with the reporters, Sorim clenched her fist.
Someday…
Will there be a day when I stand in that light by my own power?
Not as Song Taeha’s wife,
but as Chef Yoon Sorim.
After staring at the door for a long time, Sorim tied her messy hair neatly and walked into the kitchen.
* * *
The effect of the marriage announcement was enormous.
<Le Dosage> was packed every day.
People flooded in just to taste “the chaebol daughter-in-law’s cooking.”
The reservation phone almost stopped working.
It was nonstop work.
The kitchen was a battlefield, handling endless orders.
But Sorim never complained.
Watching people enjoy the food she made—
That was the only way she could breathe.
Even if they came out of simple curiosity about her.
Just as interest in Sorim began to fade, a strange tension filled the restaurant.
“Hey. We need to stay sharp today.”
Nam Taeyoung entered the kitchen with a serious face.
He was holding the reservation book.
“Why? Did something happen?
More reporters coming? They don’t even order anything.”
“No. Someone worse is coming.”
“Who?”
“The name ‘Jean Michel’ is on the reservation list. I just checked.”
The kitchen went silent.
Jean Michel.
The Asia editor-in-chief of a world-famous gourmet guidebook.
A notorious food critic known for his cruel tongue.
They said restaurants he visited either got Michelin stars—
or shut down after bad reviews.
“Why would he come here…?”
“With all this attention, he probably wants to see if we deserve it.”
As Sorim listened quietly, her palms began to sweat.
This wasn’t an ordinary guest.
This was a test for the restaurant’s reputation.
Even though Sorim only handled steak sauce, she couldn’t help but feel tense.
This restaurant held everything her parents had built.
She couldn’t let it be insulted.
“Hey, Yoon Sorim. Can you do it?”
Nam Taeyoung asked.
Sorim took a deep breath.
She was scared—but she didn’t want to run.
No, she couldn’t run.
This stage was created by Taeha,
but proving herself on it was her responsibility alone.
“Yes. I’ll do it.”
Her eyes shone sharply.
“I’ll show them properly. My way.”
* * *
That evening, the air inside <Le Dosage> was tight like a drawn bow.
At reservation time, the restaurant door opened.
An old man entered.
White hair neatly combed back, sharp eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses.
Jean Michel.
Just his presence made the dining hall quiet.
Even the customers recognized him.
He sat down but didn’t look at the menu.
“May I help you order?
Today’s main dish is wild duck confit—”
“No.”
His eyes turned toward the kitchen.
“I’ll have the chef’s recommendation.”
“Yes—yes, of course.”
It was a clear challenge.
When the order reached the kitchen, Chef Nam glanced at Sorim and looked around.
“You heard him. He wants our recommended dish.”
Sorim closed her eyes briefly.
Many recipes flashed through her mind.
Dishes written in her parents’ notebooks.
They were not geniuses or star chefs.
They were honest cooks who kept to the basics in a small restaurant.
Their food was excellent—but not shocking.
If she followed the recipe exactly, the review would be clear:
“Solid basics, but boring.”
“Should we go with tenderloin steak?
With Sorim’s sauce, at least we won’t get criticized.”
Sorim broke the silence.
“…No. Let’s do Coq au Vin.”
The sous-chef widened his eyes.
“Coq au Vin? That’s too classic.
It’s French home cooking—and he’s French. His standards will be high.”
“Then we make it not ordinary.”
Her voice was firm.
Nam Taeyoung nodded slightly.
“Alright. Let Yoon Sorim try.”
“What? The youngest?”
“She says she’s confident.
If it fails, I’ll kick her out—so do it right.”
After watching him walk away, Sorim quickly prepared the chicken.
Coq au Vin.
A French dish where chicken and vegetables are simmered in wine.
It was her father’s favorite dish—and the first one he taught her.
‘Dad followed the classic butter and red wine method.
I’ll add my own kick.’
She heated the pan and crisped the chicken skin.
The sizzling sound filled the kitchen.
She added shallots, mushrooms, and bacon.
Just before pouring in the red wine, Sorim took out her secret weapon.
Black garlic.
When mashed into the sauce, its deep, sweet flavor would balance the wine’s acidity and add rich umami.
This was her parents’ legacy—
with Yoon Sorim’s own color added.
A dish that was truly hers.
