Two years ago, my best friend's catering business was on the brink of bankruptcy. I put my own job on the line to secure her an exclusive contract with my company's cafeteria. That deal was worth over a million dollars a year. I thought she would be grateful for life. Until someone sent me a recording. It was her husband's voice: "Her? She's just skimming kickbacks from us. Don't act like she's some saint." I listened to it and smiled. I didn't explain. I didn't confront them. Three days later, the contract was awarded to the restaurant she hated most. When she called me, sobbing and begging, I replied with just two words: "Reflect on it." 1 On a sunny Friday afternoon, I felt a chill that reached my bones. An anonymous email sat in my inbox with a subject line of just two words: "Listen." The attachment was an audio file. My finger hovered over the mouse, a sense of dread gripping my heart. I put on my headphones and clicked play. After a burst of background noise, a man's rough, bragging voice pierced my eardrums. It was Greg, my best friend Chloe's husband. "Audrey? Don't let her 'professional' act fool you. She acts so high and mighty." "She gave us the contract, sure, but you think she isn't taking a cut?" "A million dollars in revenue a year, and she doesn't want a penny? Is she running a charity? Do you believe that?" "It's just that my Chloe is too honest and kind, willing to let her take advantage. Otherwise, why would such a good thing fall into her lap?" "She's a butcher. She talks about helping, but she's holding a knife, cutting our meat piece by piece." "If it weren't for the money she brings, who would want to kiss her ass?" The recording wasn't long, three minutes and twenty seconds. I listened to it expressionlessly. Once, twice. Until that sharp, mean tone drove every word into my brain like steel needles. I took off my headphones. The office was so quiet I could hear the hum of the central AC. The cold air crept down my neck, chilling me to my feet. My mind involuntarily flashed back to two years ago. Chloe's "Chloe's Kitchen" had a broken capital chain. She couldn't pay wages for months and was about to close down. She came to me with red eyes, a woman nearing thirty crying like a child in front of me. "Audrey, help me. This restaurant is my mom's life's work. I can't let it die." We grew up together. I couldn't watch her fall. During that time, I withstood pressure from everyone in the company, slamming tables in board meetings with senior directors. I used my position as Administrative Director and my personal reputation as collateral to guarantee that "Chloe's Kitchen" would provide top-tier catering service. In the end, I secured the exclusive contract for the company cafeteria for her. A steady flow of over a million dollars a year was enough to bring her back from the dead. The day we signed the contract, Chloe held my hand, crying harder than before. She said, "Audrey, I'll remember this kindness for the rest of my life." "From now on, my life is yours." Greg, standing beside her, dropped his usual aloofness. He bowed and scraped, his face piled with a flattering smile. He served me tea and peeled fruit, calling me "Sister Audrey" sweeter than a real brother. "Sister Audrey, you are our family's savior. We'll work like horses for you." The more sincere the smiles in my memory, the more vicious the voice in the recording. Two years. Just two years. The friendship I wholeheartedly protected was, in their eyes, just a transaction to brag about and smear. The help I thought was saving a life became the "kickbacks" of my insatiable greed in their mouths. A wave of physiological nausea rose from my stomach. I didn't call to question or argue in anger as they might have imagined. Meaningless. Arguing with ungrateful wolves only dirties my mouth. I carefully saved the recording and the email into an encrypted folder. Then, I closed my email as if nothing had happened. I opened the company's internal supplier database and typed three words. "Taste of Home." The light from the computer screen reflected coldly on my gold-rimmed glasses. I calmly handled all the afternoon's pending work, wrote my weekly report, and organized the agenda for next week's meeting. At 5:30 PM, I clocked out on time. Walking out of the office building, the city lights were just coming on. But the warmth of the world could no longer reach my heart. Before the storm, it is always calm. 2 The next day was Saturday, and I didn't have to go to the office. But my biological clock woke me up at 7 AM sharp. Outside, the sky was gray, threatening rain. I didn't stay in bed. I got up, washed, and made myself a simple breakfast. My phone vibrated. A small internal company group chat was flashing. A few colleagues I was on good terms with were chatting. "Omg, did you guys eat the lunch yesterday? That braised pork was so greasy I almost threw up." "More than greasy, I suspect the kitchen spilled the salt shaker. It was bitter." "It's been two months. The cafeteria food is getting worse. Too salty, too oily, bugs in the vegetables." "Shh, keep it down. She's Director Audrey's relative after all. We shouldn't say too much." "What relative? I heard they're best friends. Tight as thieves." "But it should still be worth the money we pay, right? This quality is worse than cheap takeout." The phrase "Director Audrey's relative" pricked my eyes like a tiny thorn. I put down my sandwich, appetite gone. Because of Chloe, my professionalism had been discounted in the eyes of my colleagues. I became the person who practiced nepotism, sacrificing employee welfare to take care of "connections." I opened Instagram and scrolled down out of habit. Greg's profile picture appeared in the latest feed. A carefully edited selfie with the steering wheel of a brand-new black sports car in the background, the logo shining brightly. On his wrist was a new luxury watch. The caption read: "Wifey worked hard. All our efforts deserve the best rewards!" Between the lines, uncontrollable pride and showing off. I clicked on the picture and zoomed in. Blinding. I laughed coldly. So "efforts" meant badmouthing me behind my back, painting me as a greedy vampire? It meant lowering the employee food standards again and again, cutting costs to fund your luxury life? Under the post, Chloe's comment was first. A heart emoji, followed by: "Hubby is the best!" How loving. How harmonious. My finger unconsciously scrolled up, looking through their posts from the last two years. From cautious beginnings to reckless extravagance. New car today, new house tomorrow, Europe trip the day after. Greg's feed was a live record of a nouveau riche lifestyle. And me? I looked down at my phone, used for almost three years, scratches on the edges. For two years, to help their restaurant balance the books and get on track, I even proactively shortened their settlement period from quarterly to monthly. This meant so much more communication and paperwork for me, so many more rounds with Finance. Did they forget all this? No, they didn't forget. They just felt it was all deserved. That I should do it. The fire suppressed in my chest finally found an outlet and burned fiercely. I'm not running a charity. My kindness and friendship are not cheap goods for them to squander and trample on. I exited Instagram and found a number in my contacts I rarely contacted. The note said "Taste of Home - Leo." I dialed his number. "Hello?" A capable, steady male voice came from the other end. "Mr. Leo, hello. This is Audrey Lin." My voice was calm, without a ripple. "I'd like to meet you to discuss the cafeteria supplier contract for our company. Do you have time tomorrow?" 3 I met Leo at a downtown coffee shop. He arrived before me. When I entered, he was sitting by the window with a laptop, typing rapidly. He wore a well-fitted dark gray suit, hair combed meticulously, radiating professionalism. Seeing me, he immediately closed his laptop, stood up, and extended his hand. "Director Lin, pleasure." His hand was warm and firm, his gaze open and bright. "Mr. Leo, likewise." We sat opposite each other, skipping the small talk. Leo took a thick stack of documents from his briefcase and pushed them to me. "Director Lin, this is our initial catering proposal and quote tailored for your company." I flipped through it. The plan was incredibly detailed, covering nutritional balance, a seven-day non-repeating menu, and custom meals for holidays. Every ingredient source and inspection report was attached at the back. Most importantly, his quote, while guaranteeing higher quality, was actually 10% cheaper than Chloe's "Chloe's Kitchen." I looked up at him. Leo met my gaze frankly. "Director Lin, I won't hide it from you. I have a bit of a history with Greg from Chloe's Kitchen." He didn't embellish, just stated facts calmly. "My previous head chef was poached by him with triple the salary, taking several of our signature recipes." "After that, he went around saying Taste of Home's food wasn't fresh and hygiene wasn't up to standard." I listened quietly without interrupting. I had heard rumors of these old grudges in the catering world, but hearing it from the person involved felt different. There was no resentment on Leo's face, only a businessman's calm and honesty. "So, if your company is willing to give me this chance," he paused, his tone firm, "I am willing to offer another two percent discount on this basis. Furthermore, I can personally sign an unlimited joint liability food safety guarantee with the company." "I need this order not just for profit, but to prove that Taste of Home is better than them." His eyes shone with an unconquerable, vigorous ambition. This contrasted sharply with Chloe's helpless cowardice and Greg's narrow vanity. I appreciated him. A reliable adult, a trustworthy partner, should look like this. "Mr. Leo." I closed the proposal, leaning forward slightly to look into his eyes. "Your professionalism and honesty have moved me." "No need for the extra discount. We'll go with this quote." "I have only one request. From the first day of cooperation, I want my colleagues to eat the best work meals in the city." Leo's eyes lit up instantly. He nodded heavily: "Director Lin, rest assured. I guarantee it with my reputation." We drafted a letter of intent on the spot. Shaking hands goodbye, Leo said to me: "Director Lin, thank you." I smiled: "You should thank your own professionalism." Returning to the empty office, I sat at my desk and opened my computer. First, I drafted a formal report on terminating the catering service cooperation with "Chloe's Kitchen." In the report, I included no personal emotions. Only facts. I attached screenshots and negative data statistics from the internal forum and anonymous feedback channels regarding poor food quality and hygiene concerns over the past three months. Employee satisfaction had dropped from 90% two years ago to less than 30% now. Shocking. Next, I drafted a second report on the public tender and introduction of the new supplier "Taste of Home." In the proposal, I made a clear comparison table between Leo's plan and quote versus "Chloe's Kitchen's" current service and price. The winner was obvious at a glance. All documents were ready. I saved them on the desktop, named "Final Plan." The sky outside darkened. Looking at the cold text on the screen, my heart was calm. Everything was ready. Tomorrow would be an interesting day. 4 Monday, 9:00 AM. The internal bulletin board and all employees' inboxes received a notification from the Administration Department simultaneously. "Notice Regarding the Change of Cafeteria Catering Service Supplier". Black and white, official wording, but it was like a depth charge dropped into a calm lake. The whole company boiled over. Break rooms, office areas, department group chats were instantly flooded with cheers of "Long live," "Finally changed," and "Admin is wise." A colleague even posted a screenshot of the notice on social media with the caption: "Happiest thing today: finally don't have to eat pig swill anymore!" 10:30 AM. The delivery van from "Chloe's Kitchen" drove slowly downstairs as usual. Then, it was stopped by security. "Sorry, sir. Starting today, our company has changed cafeteria suppliers. Your vehicle cannot enter the garage." The driver, Chloe's cousin, was dumbfounded. He immediately called Chloe. When Chloe got the call, she probably thought it was a mistake. She hung up and started calling me frantically. Once, twice, three times. Watching the name "Chloe" flashing on my screen, I muted it and tossed the phone to the corner of my desk. When calls didn't work, she started texting. "Audrey, what's going on? Security won't let our car in." "Are you joking? Tell them to let us in." "Audrey? Answer me!" I ignored her. At this moment, I was in the conference room with Leo and the legal department, signing the formal contract. Leo had changed into a more formal dark suit, excitement unhidden in his eyes. He signed his name, then we exchanged contracts and shook hands. "Pleasure working with you." "Pleasure." On the other side, Chloe, receiving no reply, was going crazy. She abandoned her car on the roadside and rushed into our company lobby like a headless fly. "I'm looking for Audrey Lin! I'm your supplier!" she shouted at the reception. My secretary had received my instructions and politely but firmly stopped her. "Ms. Chen, sorry, Director Lin is in a meeting. You cannot go up without an appointment." Blocked outside the turnstiles, she sweated profusely, spinning in circles. The embarrassment of her predicament turned her decent face liver-red. She finally gave up, took out her phone, and sent me a long text message. Her tone shifted from questioning to panic-stricken begging. "Audrey, what do you mean? Our friendship of so many years, how can you cut it off just like that? Without even a heads-up?" "Did I do something wrong? Tell me, I'll change, okay?" "Pick up the phone! Say something! If you do this, my restaurant is finished!" I finished signing, saw Leo off, and returned to my office. Picking up my phone, I saw the text full of breakdown. I looked at it calmly, then typed four words. "Reflect on yourself." Sent. At the same time, Greg's social media exploded. He probably saw the celebratory screenshots from my colleagues or got a call from Chloe. He sent a string of question marks in our mutual friend group. "@Audrey, what's the meaning of this?" No one answered him. Minutes later, he posted a new status, naming no names, but obvious to everyone. "Some people are truly ungrateful wolves. Give them a little sunshine and they think they're the sun. Who do they think they are!" The picture was a selfie of him rolling his eyes. Looking at that twisted, resentful face, I only found it laughable. The show had just begun.
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