1 My coworker, Penny Nelson, ate as if she were haunted by a famine only she could feel. Her jaw was never still. There was always a pastry wrapper crumpling in her pocket, a smear of glaze at the corner of her mouth, or the wet, hollow sound of her chewing during quarterly reviews. On the afternoon of our firm’s annual executive gala, she caught sight of the client gift box resting on the marble credenza in the private VIP suite. It was a custom, six-figure commemorative commission our CEO, Arthur Reynolds, had spent four months tracking down for our firm’s biggest account. Penny had stopped dead in her tracks, swallowing hard. “That looks insane,” she had murmured, her eyes wide and wet with craving. “It has to taste a hundred times better than regular preserves, right? What if I just take one bite? A tiny nibble. With a gift that big, they won’t even notice.” In my previous life, I threw myself in front of that velvet-lined box. I was sharp, unyielding, and utterly professional. I physically blocked her, protected the seal, and ensured Mr. Reynolds handed it over pristine, securing the multi-million-dollar contract renewal. In return, Penny collapsed in tears. She told the entire office I had humiliated her, that I was a cold-blooded bully who treated her like a dog begging at a banquet table. She claimed I had triggered an acute hypoglycemic crisis and sent her into a trauma spiral. To prove her point, she staged a hunger strike, refusing to eat until she made herself so ill she suffered fatal metabolic collapse in the hospital. After she died, the entire company turned on me. They labeled me a toxic workplace harasser. HR fired me without severance; the executive search firms blacklisted my name across the tri-state area. I ended up wasting away in a damp, rented studio on the outskirts of the city, listening to the radiator clank until my own heart finally gave out. When I opened my eyes again, the cold air of the VIP suite rushed into my lungs. Penny was standing right before me, her manicured, sugar-dusted fingertips already inching toward the silk ribbon of that very same box. This time, I didn’t reach out. I didn’t step between her and the mahogany table. I just leaned back against the credenza and watched. I wanted to see if the billionaire client who held our entire fiscal year in her palm would find Penny’s insatiable greed cute. Instead of lunging, I offered a flat, level warning. “Penny. That gift was personally commissioned by Mr. Reynolds for the Harrison account. The wax seal is logged in protocol. Don’t touch it.” Penny didn’t even flinch. She gave an airy, dismissive shrug. “Oh, please. If I unwrap it carefully, I can just smooth the foil back down. No one’s going to know.” “There’s an omnidirectional security camera right above the display cabinet,” I said, my voice deadpan. “They run the tapes before any executive handover.” Her fingers hovered at the edge of the gold foil seal. She hesitated for half a beat, then reached into her cardigan pocket, pulling out a half-eaten custard tart and shoving the rest into her mouth. Powdered sugar drifted down onto her lapel. “Nora, seriously? It’s just food. Do you have to turn everything into a federal case?” She bent closer, inhaling the seam of the handcrafted cedar box. Her pupils dilated with raw, primal fixation. “God, you can smell it through the wood. Orange blossom, aged citrus peel, wildflower honey. It smells unreal. It’s probably the most delicious thing on this entire floor.” The door clicked open, and Megan Doyle walked in holding a stack of seating charts. Seeing Penny bent over the table, Megan let out an indulgent laugh. “Penny, grazing again already?” At once, Penny’s lower lip jutted out. She cupped her stomach, her posture instantly shrinking into that of a fragile, mistreated child. “Megan, you don’t understand. It’s been twenty minutes since lunch. My hands are literally shaking. My blood sugar is bottoming out.” She pointed a trembling finger at the cedar box. “This thing has just been sitting here, torturing me. I only leaned in to smell it, and Nora jumped down my throat. She acted like I was some kind of criminal trying to ruin the company. I wasn’t even going to do anything!” Derek Morris stepped in right behind Megan, taking in the scene and immediately turning his scowl on me. “Nora, for God’s sake. It’s a bite of food. Does everything have to be a disciplinary hearing with you?” Megan shook her head, looking at me with that signature brand of corporate condescension. “You know Penny has hypoglycemia, Nora. Remember last month’s all-hands meeting? We ran ten minutes over and she nearly passed out cold on the conference table. If you stand there policing her snacks and she faints on the VIP carpet right before the board arrives, are you going to take the blame?” With two defenders flanking her, Penny’s eyes welled with practiced, glistening tears. “I wasn’t trying to steal,” she whimpered, dabbing at the corner of her eyes. “I just wanted to know what a bespoke, six-figure confection tastes like. Besides, the Harrisons have billions. Even if a tiny piece was missing, do you really think someone that rich cares about an ounce of dried fruit?” I calmly unlocked my phone and tapped the voice memo widget, letting the recording bar pulse silently on the screen. “I’ve made the provenance and importance of this gift clear,” I said evenly. “If Penny chooses to break the client seal, she bears full accountability for the consequences.” Derek scoffed, crossing his arms. “Listen to yourself. Trying to scare people over an hors d’oeuvre. You honestly believe Harrison Holdings is going to walk away from a three-year master service agreement because a piece of candied fruit is missing? Get over yourself, Nora. Penny likes her snacks. We all know how she is.” He stepped forward, gesturing at the centerpiece. “Frankly, putting the box right here in the staging suite feels like you were intentionally setting a trap to get her in trouble.” Megan set her iced latte down and chimed in smoothly. “He’s right. She sees sugar, she gets a craving. There’s no malice in it. Labeling her a thief in front of the team is just malicious on your part, Nora. It’s hostile.” Penny’s hand crept back onto the cedar box, her voice soft and plaintive. “Nora, please. Just let me have a sliver. I’m so dizzy.” In my first life, this was the exact second I had grabbed her wrist, pulling her back before the seal tore. That was when she shrieked that I had assaulted her, that I was starving her, that I took sadistic pleasure in denying her basic human sustenance. This time, I stood firmly beneath the wide-angle security lens, my voice steady, crisp, and clear. “I have formally stated the protocol. If you are prepared to answer directly to Mr. Reynolds when he finds out, go ahead and eat.” Megan sneered. “What consequences? Honestly, Nora, you live in your own paranoid little world.” Penny didn’t wait for another word. Her fingers hooked under the gold foil seal, tearing the hand-pressed paper in one sharp, irreversible rip. “It smells like heaven,” she breathed, lifting the heavy wooden lid. “I knew it.” 2 The interior of the box was lined in crushed midnight-blue velvet. Nestled inside were six porcelain compartments containing rare, vintage-aged candied Seville orange rinds, glazed in wildflower honey. Penny’s eyes lit up with a feverish glow. Without a second’s thought, she dug two bare fingers into the corner tier, pinched out a translucent, amber-dark strip of aged peel, and shoved it between her teeth. She closed her eyes, letting out a low, muffled moan of gratification. “Oh my God. This is insane. Even the orange peel tastes better than any candy in the world. It melts right on your tongue.” I looked at the shredded wax seal and the disturbed velvet bed. “Penny. You’ve already ruined the external packaging, but do not touch the center compartment. Harrison’s executive team will cross-check the gift manifest against the catalog. If the primary artifact is compromised, they will file an inquiry.” Chewing greedily, Penny’s expression curdled into an annoyed pout. “Nora, why do you keep harping on about the client? It’s a single piece of peel. They’re never going to count them. You’re acting like I committed a felony, and it’s completely exhausting.” Derek peered into the box, letting out an appreciative whistle before turning on me with an arrogant smirk. “The client isn’t going to sit at the gala table with a magnifying glass counting citrus strips, Nora. You’re just desperate to look indispensable. You think if you micromanage a piece of dried fruit, Reynolds will finally notice you.” He stepped into my space, deliberately bumping his shoulder against mine to push me away from the table. “Stop acting like you run this company. Reynolds cares about the bottom line. He’s not going to fire someone over a five-calorie sugar craving.” Megan nudged the box closer to Penny. “Well, since it’s already open, have another one, Pen. Describe the flavor notes. Educate the rest of us.” I took half a step back, angling myself toward the door. “If you three want to babysit the buffet, be my guest. I’m heading to the floor.” Derek instantly sidestepped, blocking the exit with his forearm against the frame. “Where do you think you’re going? Running to Reynolds to rat us out?” His eyes narrowed. “I’m warning you, Nora. Don’t try to play the hero here. If Reynolds comes in asking why the box was tampered with, we’ll tell him you left it unattended and unsealed. You’re on the chain of custody. You won’t walk away clean.” Megan moved in from the side, grabbing my sleeve. “Why do you hate Penny so much, Nora? You’ve had it out for her since day one. Just because she’s likable and people actually enjoy working with her? You’re so bitter that nobody likes you that you’ll ruin a girl’s career over a snack.” I had once reprimanded Penny for missing a crucial SEC filing deadline because she had wandered off to raid the vendor catering cart on the fourteenth floor. That was what Megan considered “having it out for her.” I ignored them both, lifting my cracked-screen phone to confirm the recording app was still tracking audio. Megan caught sight of the glowing waveform. Her eyes widened in fury, and she lunged, snatching the phone from my grip and hurling it violently onto the polished terrazzo floor. Crack. The tempered glass shattered into a web of white fractures. Megan smiled, smooth and triumphant. “There. Now nobody’s running off to tattle. Penny’s just having an afternoon snack, Nora. Relax. Nothing is going to happen.” Derek glanced down at the wrecked phone, chuckling under his breath. “That’s enough theatrics out of you, Nora. Sit down and shut up before you cause an actual scene.” I knelt down in silence, gathering the phone from the cold floor. A tiny sliver of loose glass nicked the pad of my thumb, drawing a small, bright bead of blood. I pressed it against my palm, feeling the sharp, clean sting of it. Across the room, Penny had already swallowed the second piece of citrus. Now, her gaze had locked onto the center of the box. There, resting in a carved alcove of dark walnut, was the centerpiece: a solitary, gilded candied heritage pomelo—a bespoke culinary recreation pressed with an antique seal, sitting atop an engraved brass plaque. It was the “Heart of Solace,” the centerpiece of the entire commission. Penny licked the amber syrup from her lower lip. Her pupils were wide, fixed on that single golden orb. “The one in the middle looks incredible,” she whispered, her voice husky with anticipation. “I can’t… I really can’t help it. Just one little taste. It won’t hurt anyone.” I stood motionless against the wall, watching her with detached, glacial clarity. Derek kept his body positioned in front of me like a linebacker, daring me to make a move. Megan clamped her hand around my wrist, her nails digging into the fabric of my blazer. “Don’t you dare lunge at her, Nora.” The next second, Penny reached in, lifted the gilded fruit, and bit off an entire half. The syrupy gold pulp tore away with a soft, wet crunch. “Oh,” Penny sighed, her eyes rolling back. “It’s so good.” The room went eerily still. I looked at the ragged, half-eaten core remaining in her sticky fingers, and a strange, cold peace settled into my chest. I wondered how she planned to explain that bite to Arthur Reynolds. 3 Penny didn’t even pause. She shoved the remaining half into her mouth, her cheeks bulging like a squirrel’s. She chewed for a long, rhythmic minute, her throat working hard to swallow the dense, candied pulp, before finally licking her forefingers clean with a loud, wet smack. “I mean, it’s good,” she mumbled, catching her breath. “A little intense, honestly. But why is there only one in the whole box? For six figures, they couldn’t include a dozen? I’m not even full.” Megan’s smirk finally faltered. A flicker of real panic crept into her eyes. “Penny… you ate the entire thing?” Penny blinked, innocent and bewildered. “Well, yeah? It was a whole piece of fruit. Was I supposed to put half a bitten orange back in the velvet?” Derek leaned over the box, his casual bravado evaporating as he stared at the yawning, empty depression in the center of the dark blue velvet. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s right in the middle. It’s glaringly empty. We have to fill it with something.” He spun toward me, his voice tight and combative. “Nora, you keep your damn mouth shut about this. You hear me?” I looked down at the bleeding cut on my thumb, then back at his tense face. “If you report this to the executive coordinator right now, we can still pull the contingency gift protocol before the presentation.” Derek’s face darkened with rage. “You just want us to walk into the CEO’s office and hang ourselves so you can look like the golden girl! No way in hell.” Megan was already rummaging through her Michael Kors tote. “Wait, I have something. I bought those artisanal Swiss truffles from the airport duty-free last week. They were thirty bucks a box. They look high-end.” Penny’s face brightened. “Oh, those dark hazelnut ones? Megan gave me half of one earlier. The remaining piece is pretty round. It’ll totally blend in.” She grabbed the half-eaten sphere of chocolate from Megan’s bag, stepped over to the box, and shoved it directly into the empty walnut indentation. She used her sticky fingers to push the surrounding candied peels over the edges, trying to camouflage the gap. “Look,” Penny said proudly, tilting her head. “You can barely tell. It just looks like an assorted arrangement.” Derek let out a relieved laugh. “See? Penny’s a genius. Under banquet lighting, nobody’s going to inspect the texture.” I watched this pathetic pantomime, my stomach turning with disbelief. I stepped forward, reaching for the lid. “This box is compromised. It needs to go straight to executive support.” Derek slammed his palm down onto the wood, using his other arm to shove me hard against the credenza. The brass pull-handle caught me right in the lower back, knocking the breath from my ribs. Megan stepped between us instantly, her voice dropping into a vicious hiss. “Touch that box again, Nora, and I swear to God you’ll regret it. If you try to blow the whistle, we’ll tell Reynolds the box was under your sole supervision from the courier drop-off. Why is the seal broken? Why is the fruit missing? It’s your word against three of ours. Good luck surviving that audit.” Penny was already chewing on a strawberry gummy bear she had excavated from her pockets, her words slurred around the gelatin. “Nora, why do you have to be so difficult? The client is a multi-millionaire. They’ve eaten everything under the sun. They aren’t going to throw a tantrum over one little piece of fruit.” From the corridor, the sharp click of heels sounded against the tile. The senior protocol coordinator leaned into the doorway. “Is the presentation box ready? Mr. Reynolds needs it on the main riser in three minutes for Mrs. Harrison.” I opened my mouth, but Megan smoothly cut across me. “All inspected, sealed, and ready to go! Perfect condition.” Derek picked up the cedar box with both hands, holding it with exaggerated care. “Here you go, Sarah. Take it right up to the boss.” The coordinator hesitated, her eyes sweeping over the room and catching my pale face. But before she could ask, Derek physically crowded my line of sight, while Megan linked her arm through mine, her fingers pinching through my blazer sleeve like steel calipers. Sarah glanced at her watch, nodded, and carried the heavy cedar chest down the hall. Megan shoved me back inside the room and crossed her arms. “It’s on the riser now, Nora. Even if you run out there screaming, it’s too late. You’ll just embarrass the firm and get fired on the spot.” I wrenched my arm from her grip without a word, pushed Derek aside, and walked out into the corridor. I didn’t run to the CEO. I walked to the edge of the mezzanine overlooking the ballroom floor. On the stage, bathed in warm, golden spotlights, Arthur Reynolds was beaming, his hand outstretched toward Mrs. Eleanor Harrison. “Eleanor,” Reynolds’s voice resonated through the state-of-the-art house audio. “We know how much your family’s legacy means to you. When you mentioned your late mother’s roots, our team spent months locating the original master confectioners from her home village in Valencia. This is our token of profound partnership.” Mrs. Harrison smiled with genuine warmth, murmuring her appreciation as the cameras flashed. She reached out with elegant, gloved hands, lifted the cedar lid, and peered inside. The smile on her face didn’t fade—it vanished. Her features turned into solid, frozen marble.
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