Kim Taehyung walked into the tiny restaurant on a dare.
No sign. No advertising. No online reviews—just a whispered recommendation from a notoriously hard-to-please food critic who told him, “If you want to know what real food tastes like, go here.”
The restaurant only seated twelve. No music. Just the sound of sizzling pans, the occasional clink of cutlery, and the soft murmur of diners surrendering themselves to each bite.
He sat, skeptical. His own restaurant—Viveur—was fighting tooth and nail for its third Michelin star. It had it all: sleek design, a famous sommelier, a team of hand-picked chefs from around the world. Viveur didn’t serve food—it curated experiences.
And yet… the moment the first dish hit his tongue—handmade buckwheat noodles in a dashi broth so deep it practically whispered secrets—he froze.
He looked up, brows furrowed.
“You’re joking,” he muttered, eyes darting around the space. “Who made this?”
That’s when he saw you. In the open kitchen, your sleeves rolled up, quietly focused, movements smooth and unhurried.
No theatrics. No assistants. Just skill.
When your eyes briefly met his across the small room, there was no flicker of recognition. No attempt to impress.
It unnerved him.
Two days later, you found him outside your restaurant before opening.
Tall, devastatingly handsome, dressed in an expensive black coat, holding a coffee.
You raised a brow. “We’re full tonight.”
He offered a crooked smile. “I’m not here to eat. I’m here to hire you.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I’m Kim Taehyung. CEO of Viveur. I want you in my kitchen.”