Chapter 1

When the company began choosing a vendor for staff lunches, I immediately ruled out my family's restaurant.

A coworker stared at me. "Nora, that is a $150,000 contract. Your family runs a restaurant, and you're turning down money being handed to you? Are you out of your mind?"

I smiled and didn't answer.

In my last life, I took that contract.

Then the new intern, Fiona Bell, accused me of secretly pocketing a commission.

She even produced a quote from a three-star hotel for comparison. "Look, theirs is three dollars a portion. How do you justify charging eight?"

Even my boyfriend of six years, Gavin Shaw, whom I had been seeing in secret, joined her in confronting me with the invoices.

In the end the whole company froze me out.

After I was diagnosed with severe depression, I died in a car accident one groggy-eyed morning.

Three months after my death, several people were poisoned or killed after that hotel cleaned its dishes with pesticide.

This time, I slid the order back to Fiona. My voice was calm. "You're the intern in facilities. You know the approval process better than I do. I'll stay out of it."

1

Before I had even finished, a coworker protested, "Come on, Nora, the food at your family's place is so good!"

I didn't answer.

My family's restaurant was small, but it was spotless.

My parents grew all the vegetables themselves.

They bought the beef and fish only from trusted suppliers.

Even the spices had to be certified organic.

In my last life, to take the company's order, I had my parents drop several long-standing regulars.

We started stocking up two months ahead and were run off our feet.

This time, I refused to put my family through that again.

Before the coworker could press me further, Fiona cut in, "What is this? Three dishes and she has the nerve to charge eight dollars? Nora, do you think this company belongs to your family? Exactly how big a cut are you taking?"

She rattled the menu aggressively.

"Ratatouille, prawns in wine, char-grilled pork neck. Aren't those all ordinary dishes? A tray of shrimp costs only a few dollars at the grocery store, and you charge eight dollars for one lunch? That profit margin is obscene."

She had no idea my mother went out of her way to buy organic produce.

The wild-caught prawns arrived by boat before dawn every morning.

My father even had the Iberico pork flown in from Spain.

With costs like that, the margin was pitiful.

I could not be bothered to explain. I simply nodded. "That's fine. If you don't want to eat it, don't."

"You folks are resourceful. I'm sure you'll find someone better than us."

Before I could finish, Gavin frowned. "Fiona's only being practical. Why do you have to be so snide about it?"

In my last life the whole company shut me out, and nobody would even sit next to me at lunch.

I begged him through my tears to speak up for me. He only looked at me coldly. "Nora, you need to learn to look at your own behavior. If you hadn't taken dirty money, why would anyone single you out?"

That hurt more deeply than any insult could have.

Fiona seized the moment, squeezed between Gavin and me, and leaned against his arm. "Gavin, let it go. Nora means well. She just hasn't seen much of the world."

Then she turned around excitedly to address everyone.

"Come look, I just found an incredible deal! It's a three-star hotel. Apparently they hired their head chef away from a Michelin-starred restaurant."

She held her phone up high, a digital menu on the screen.

Seared foie gras with black truffle sauce, lobster thermidor, slow-braised wagyu, black tiger prawn tartare.

Plus a soufflé for dessert.

Fiona wore a smug smile. "I already asked. They're offering a grand-opening special: buy five, get one free! If we all order, it'll cost only three dollars each!"

Colleagues crowded in to look.

Even Megan Carter, the coworker who had spoken up for my family, widened her eyes and murmured, "Three dollars for lobster and foie gras... you really can't compete with that."

I stopped looking at the glossy pictures on the screen and walked away.

What they didn't know was that the hotel kitchen cleaned their dishware with industrial pesticide.

Several customers were rushed to intensive care with vomiting and severe diarrhea, and one elderly man never woke up.

In my last life, I lost my life for that company.

This time, anyone who wanted to stage that farce could do it without me.

I went to the break room, where my phone buzzed twice.

It was a message from Theo Bennett, a friend from university, inviting me to come start a company with him in another city.

"Nora, the project we're developing has real prospects. Come over and I'll double your salary, plus twenty percent founder's equity. What do you say?"

I barely hesitated before replying, "Yes. I'm in."

2

In my last life, when Theo approached me, all I could think about was marrying Gavin and building a home.

I couldn't bear to leave that city, so I turned him down.

Looking back now, it was such a waste.

This time, I wanted to live for myself.

I had barely sent the reply when the break-room door opened.

Megan poked her head inside and spoke hesitantly. "Nora, I wanted to ask you something... That staff lunch. Could I still order from your family?"

I paused, then recognized her.

In my last life, when the whole company was shutting me out, she never joined in.

She once quietly left a hot milk tea on my desk and walked away without a word.

I had never forgotten those quiet acts of kindness.

I nodded. "Of course."

"But eight dollars is the lowest we can go. The ingredient costs are what they are."

Megan shook her head quickly. "That's fair. Absolutely. Food safety matters. I'd rather pay a little more for peace of mind!"

Another coworker joined us. "Exactly. I've seen your parents picking the vegetables themselves. They scrub off every speck of dirt. I know I can trust your family's food."

As we were talking, my phone lit up again.

Theo had sent another message. "I've booked you a flight out in three days. Nora, don't stand me up."

I read it and exhaled softly.

At noon the next day, lunch arrived on schedule.

Our lunches came in compostable containers made from pressed straw pulp.

Each one sat inside a rough but sturdy reusable cloth bag.

Fiona passed my desk and glanced at my container.

She tossed out a comment without slowing down. "That container looks so rough. It even feels scratchy. Ours are reusable glazed stoneware. You can feel the quality in the weight."

She set the hotel's glazed stoneware bowl on the desk. Its surface was polished enough to reflect a face.

A coworker immediately crowded closer. "Exactly. It looks expensive! And the food is delicious. The foie gras is cooked perfectly, and the lobster is tender with just the right bite! A meal like this for three dollars is unreal."

I said nothing and went quietly back to my desk.

After a meal, ordinary stoneware usually retained at least a few faint marks.

No amount of scrubbing should have made it shine like a mirror.

Yet every one of their bowls was unnaturally spotless.

That unnatural shine came from the hotel's cost-cutting.

To save on labor and detergent, they soaked the dishes in diluted industrial pesticide and let the chemicals dissolve the stains.

I didn't look up. I opened my own lunch and ate slowly.

The vegetables were sweet, the meat fresh and savory. It tasted like home.

But the quiet didn't last long.

A pair of hands suddenly entered my field of vision. Fiona had appeared beside my desk.

She waved a bite of foie gras on her fork and smiled brightly. "Nora, stop guarding that little bit of home cooking. Here, try mine!"

The foie gras was an unnatural, icy white, its flesh tight and glossy.

A faint chemical odor, almost like bleach, made me instantly wary.

My parents drilled it into me from childhood.

Something that looks appealing yet reeks of harsh chemicals might not make you sick after a single bite.

But the damage would build with repeated exposure, and by the time symptoms appeared, regret would be useless.

I didn't take Fiona up on it and was about to go back to my food.

Megan, the colleague who had insisted on ordering from us, came over as well.

She frowned, studied the foie gras for a few seconds, and lowered her voice. "Fiona, that color isn't right, is it? Cooked foie gras should be pale yellow or creamy white. This is white as paper, and the smell is sharp. This is going into your stomach. Don't be careless about it."

3

Fiona set her fork down and gave her a look.

She was smiling, but every word was barbed. "Some people just can't afford the good stuff, so they can't stand watching other people enjoy it. This foie gras came from a three-star hotel and was personally selected by the chef. How did it suddenly become unsafe just because you two say so? If you're envious, just say so. I don't mind giving you each a bite."

Beside her, the coworker who'd spearheaded the cold-shoulder campaign against me in my last life jumped in immediately, her mouth crammed full of food.

Her mouth still crammed full of food, she shouted over the rest of the group, "Exactly. These people are just jealous of Fiona! Envious that we eat well! We eat foie gras and lobster for three dollars and they pay eight to gnaw on greens. I'd be bitter too."

She shoveled in another huge bite, grease shining on her lips as she chewed.

In my last life, she had led the entire department in freezing me out and spreading rumors about me behind my back.

Watching her eat with such relish now sent a chill down my spine.

What I remembered from my last life made the danger all too clear.

Some people ate a single business dinner at that hotel and ended up in the emergency room that same night, vomiting and suffering severe diarrhea.

One young woman spent three days in the ICU.

Eating it at every meal, the way she was, something was going to happen sooner or later.

But I could not be bothered to warn them. They would never have listened.

Megan beside me had gone red with anger, her lips moving as she tried to argue back.

I gently tugged Megan's arm and lowered my voice. "Leave it. Let them do what they want. The people who trust us already do. The people who don't won't listen no matter what we say. Let's just eat our own lunch."

I thought that would be the end of it.

But Fiona slammed her bowl onto the desk, rose, and came around to face me. "Nora, what exactly did you mean by that? Say it plainly!"

I lifted my head and looked straight at her. "I didn't mean anything. Everyone is free to eat what they like. I've said my piece. May I go now?"

She faltered, apparently not expecting me to refuse the bait.

As we faced off, Gavin strode over.

He grabbed my arm and pulled me aside, hard enough that I stumbled.

His brow was deeply furrowed, his voice openly impatient. "Nora, can you stop bullying Fiona? She offered you a bite to be nice. If you didn't want it, fine. Why did you have to mock her?"

Looking at that face, so familiar and so strange, I suddenly found it absurd.

I was about to turn and leave when Gavin seized my arm again.

His voice dropped into a command. "Nora, apologize to Fiona."

I stopped and looked back at him. The demand was absurd.

I had spent ten years at the company, working my way up from an entry-level role to project lead. I was one of its most senior employees.

An intern had provoked me repeatedly in front of the whole office.

Ignoring her provocations was already a concession. Why should I be the one apologizing?

I shook his hand off, stepped back, and let my voice go cold. "Mr. Shaw, mind your tone. You're a department manager. I'm the lead on this entire project. Professionally, I outrank you. If you think I've done something wrong, file a formal complaint with corporate."

Gavin froze.

In our years of seeing each other secretly, he had always required me to keep my distance from him at work.

I wasn't to approach him first, wasn't to show any closeness in front of colleagues.

It hurt, but I endured it all.

This time I drew the line myself.

Now that I was the one drawing a professional boundary, he did not know how to handle it.

4

Gavin opened his mouth as though to say something.

But Fiona got there first, tears at the corners of her eyes, tugging at his cuff. "Leave it, Gavin. Nora hasn't done anything wrong. I only meant well. I just wanted Nora to try food from a three-star hotel. How was I supposed to know she would take it so badly..."

She lowered her head and dabbed at her eyes as though she'd suffered a terrible injustice.

Gavin fell for her performance at once, his expression darkening further.

He turned and fixed his gaze on me, his tone sharpening. "Nora, the company chose the three-star hotel! You're a senior employee, but instead of supporting the decision, you've opposed it again and again! What exactly are you trying to pull! If you still count yourself part of this company, you should stay in step with the team instead of demanding special treatment."

He snatched my lunch container off the desk and threw it into the trash.

Then he took a glazed stoneware meal set from the hotel's delivery crate and shoved it toward me. "If you want to keep working here, you eat the same thing we do."

The stoneware bowl had barely touched the desk.

A stronger chemical odor hit me, so harsh that my stomach lurched.

That was the last straw. "Gavin, protect Fiona all you like, but don't drag everyone else to their deaths with you!"

The coworkers closest to Fiona erupted. "If you don't want it, then get out! Do you think you're some kind of princess? Are you too good for the rest of us?"

"Exactly. Don't you think a chef at a three-star hotel knows more than your parents' humble home kitchen?"

"That ratatouille your dad makes? I'd be embarrassed to feed it to my dog!"

"I think you're jealous that Fiona is younger and more capable than you. You're twisted!"

The shouting swelled. Even Megan only looked as though she wanted to speak.

In the end she lowered her head, ate her own lunch in silence, and didn't dare make another sound.

I stood where I was without moving and without answering back.

But their anger fed on itself.

Someone snatched an empty desk-tidy off a desk and hurled it at me.

I could not dodge in time. A dull blow struck my forehead.

Warm blood ran down from my brow and dripped onto my shirt collar, blooming into a small dark-red stain.

And Gavin only moved instinctively to put Fiona behind him.

He looked at the blood on my forehead, frowned once, and in the end never took a single step toward me.

Everyone stared as if I were a stray dog that had wandered into their midst.

I wiped the blood off my forehead with the back of my hand and nodded. "Fine. If this is how you all treat me, then I'll go."

I went back to my desk and packed up my personal things.

I walked straight into the boss's office and handed in my resignation on the spot.

Ten minutes later I walked out of the building.

I sent Gavin one message. "We're done."

Then I blocked him on every channel.

When Gavin got the message he didn't take it seriously at all.

He assumed Nora was throwing a tantrum and would come back after a couple of days of coaxing.

But a whole month passed and Nora had vanished off the face of the earth.

His own health began to deteriorate for no apparent reason.

For several mornings, he woke with nosebleeds; during the day, he sat at his desk lightheaded and foggy.

That day he made his coffee as usual, sat down, and was about to open a file.

Then a thud sounded behind him, followed by a scream. "Help! Fiona passed out!"