When I opened my eyes again, I was standing outside a private suite in a five-star hotel, clutching a delivery tray. My blue courier windbreaker was stained with grease, and on the tray sat two plastic cups of cheap lemonade—supposedly the "hangover cure" for the two power players inside. The memories of my previous life hit me like a physical blow. In that life, my boss had slammed those cups against my chest, the lukewarm liquid soaking through my shirt. "Who told you to bring this garbage? I ordered the Lobster and Truffle Bisque!" his roar had vibrated in my eardrums. His assistant, Lexi, had immediately chimed in with a shrill sneer. "He probably drank it himself and replaced it with this swill. Make him pay for it!" I had pulled out my phone with trembling hands to show them the order on the app—it clearly showed her handle, PrincessLexi, had placed the order for the lemonade. But she didn’t even look. She swiped my phone out of my hand, and the screen shattered into a spiderweb across the marble floor. Then, she called dispatch to file a formal complaint. I was fined a week’s wages and fired on the spot. My mother was in the hospital, waiting for that money to stay alive. I was left penniless, forced to watch her take her last breath in a cold hospital ward. Worst of all, a video of that night—maliciously edited—went viral. Under the headline Delivery Thief Drinks Customer’s Soup, a million strangers cursed me with the most vile language imaginable. The despair drowned me like a rising tide. Eventually, I walked into the river. But now, the door opened. Howie, the man who had ruined me, beckoned me inside. A cold smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. In this life, I wasn't going to be the sacrificial lamb. This business negotiation was about to get very "interesting." 1 “Excuse me, I have a delivery for ‘Princess Lexi’?” I stood before the two executives and Lexi Brooks, the assistant, holding out the paper receipt. In my last life, I hadn't been prepared; the paper slip had vanished in the chaos. This time, as long as she acknowledged the name, the receipt would be my ironclad proof. Lexi offered a saccharine smile. “That’s me. My favorite hangover cure. Bring it over.” There was a glint of anticipation in her eyes. She hadn't made a mistake. She had ordered the lemonade on purpose, setting a trap for a reason I had yet to fully grasp. Clatter. I set the two plastic cups on the mahogany table. Both men immediately frowned. “What is this? Lexi, didn’t I tell you to order the Truffle Bisque?” Howie Briggs, her boss, demanded. Lexi was still playing her part. “Oh, Howard, honestly, the lemon enzymes are actually better for—” Thud! Howie slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you know what kind of meeting this is?” He turned to the other man, an intimidating figure in a charcoal suit. “Mr. Wolfe took time out of his insane schedule to meet us, and you’re serving him ten-cent lemonade? This is a business dinner, not a high school picnic!” Realizing Howard was actually furious, Lexi’s face paled. She lunged for the paper receipt. “Let me see that. There must be a mistake.” I moved to show the receipt to Howard, but Lexi was faster. She "accidentally" dropped the slip into the decorative fireplace beside the table. It turned to ash in a heartbeat. “Oh no! Boss, I’m so sorry. I did order the bisque. This boy must have swapped the orders. I was just trying to be nice and cover for him!” Lexi stepped toward me. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes were like a predator’s. “Sweetie, why don't you go back and get the real order? I won't report you if you hurry.” When I didn't move, she gasped, covering her mouth. “Oh my god. You’ve never seen soup that expensive, have you? Did you drink it and buy this cheap stuff to replace it?” I opened my mouth to speak, but Howard cut me off. “Drinking my food? I know how to handle thieves.” He slowly poked a straw through the plastic lid of the lemonade. He lifted the cup and, without warning, poured the icy liquid directly over my head. “You think you can touch Howard Briggs' property?” He sneered as the ice cubes slid down my neck. “You have two choices. You buy me two new orders of that bisque right now, or you pay me the full cash value. Otherwise, one call to your head office and you’re blacklisted for life.” I knew how the corporate office worked. They wouldn't listen to a courier. A complaint from a man like Howard meant a ten-fold fine or immediate termination. And I needed every cent to save my mother. “I’ll pay,” I said, my voice steady despite the dripping lemonade. I glanced at the silent partner across the table—Sebastian Wolfe, the CEO of the company Howard was desperate to sign with—and then at Lexi, whose breathing was shallow with guilt. To break this, I had to go through her. “But I’ve never even seen a hundred-dollar soup. If I go to the wrong place, I’ll just waste more of your time. Lexi, could you show me the order confirmation on your phone so I know exactly where to go?” Howard nodded curtly. “Show him, Lexi. Let him see what real luxury looks like.” Lexi reached for her phone, her fingers—manicured in a deep, blood-red—trembling violently. 2 I watched her screen like a hawk. As she unlocked it, I caught a glimpse of her wallpaper: a selfie of Lexi and Howard, their faces pressed together, surrounded by heart stickers. So, she wasn't just his assistant; she was his mistress. It explained why Howard had never questioned her in my previous life. You don't blame the woman you're sleeping with. As for the lemonade? She was likely trying to play some "thrifty, down-to-earth girl" persona for Mr. Wolfe and it had blown up in her face. Now, I was the fall guy. She fumbled with the phone, scrolling frantically. Under Howard’s impatient gaze, she finally opened a luxury food app and pointed at a listing for a gold-leaf garnished bisque. “That’s the one,” she said, trying to pull the phone away. I grabbed her wrist. “Wait, I didn’t see the 'Ordered' tab. Did you actually hit buy?” “Hey! Let go of me!” she shrieked, ducking behind Howard. “Howard, look! He’s assaulting me! My wrist is going to bruise!” Howard didn’t hesitate. He barked into his intercom, and seconds later, two hulking security guards burst in. They tackled me, twisting my arms behind my back and slamming me onto the cold floor. “You dare touch my woman?” Howard spat, standing over me. He raised his foot. The sole of his expensive Italian leather shoe, covered in street grime, pressed into my cheek. A wave of humiliation crashed over me. My whole life, I had never stolen a thing. Even when my mother got sick, I didn't beg. I worked three jobs, day and night, to pay the bills. I walked the straightest line possible, yet here they were, crushing me. Just because they had money? I struggled, but the guards were too strong. My face was mashed against the freezing marble. The commotion drew a crowd—hotel staff and curious diners peered through the open door. Lexi began to perform for them, her voice trembling with fake tears as she painted me as a thief and a harasser. The whispers started. They felt like needles. “The poor have no shame. Stealing is one thing, but getting handsy?” “He shouldn't even be in a hotel like this. Typical bottom-feeder behavior.” “Just pay the man and get out of here before you lose your job, kid.” Blacklisted? I looked up at Lexi. She was holding her phone up, livestreaming the whole thing. This was it. This was how the video started in my last life. She would edit it to make it look like I was a criminal and they were the "gracious" victims. “Fine!” I shouted. “I’ll admit to whatever you want. But on one condition!” Howard laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Conditions? From you? Fine, let’s hear it.” I looked at the guards. Howard gave a slight nod, and they hauled me up. My shoulders screamed in pain. If they had actually broken something, I could have sued, but I couldn't wait for a legal battle. I had to end this now. “The condition is—I want everyone in this hotel and everyone watching that stream to witness my 'confession.'” 3 Lexi visibly relaxed the moment I agreed to confess. Don't get too comfortable, I thought. The show hasn't even started. The hotel manager, who had clearly been tipped by Howard, gathered the staff to provide "security." Howard was throwing around hundred-dollar bills like confetti to keep the crowd engaged. A man worth hundreds of millions was trying to destroy a delivery boy over a soup order. That was the reality of the "elite." The hallway was packed now. People were filming on their phones. Lexi’s livestream numbers were hitting record highs for her account. “Wait, is that the guy from the nursing home?” a comment flashed on her screen. The internet was already doing what it does best: doxing. Courier Ben Sullivan. Mother has end-stage renal failure. He dumped her in a state-run home two years ago. A nursing home? Wow. His mom raised him alone and he just shoves her in a hole? What a piece of trash. Total scumbag. No wonder he’s stealing soup. The vitriol poured in. They didn't know I had spent a year sleeping on a hospital chair, or that I had sold everything I owned to pay for her dialysis. I had moved her to the facility because I had to work twenty hours a day to afford the transplant she needed. I was so close. In my last life, I was so close to the surgery fee. These people, with their keyboards and their "morality," were the ones who had helped kill her. Not this time. Seeing me cornered, Lexi whispered to Howard, “Let’s get him to apologize on camera. It’ll look great for the brand. We’ll look like the bigger people.” Howard pinched her nose playfully. “Always thinking of the PR, babe. Once we're done with this loser, I’ll show you how much I appreciate your 'creative' ideas tonight.” Lexi blushed. “Stop it, Howard.” Howard cleared his throat and looked at the camera, his chin held high. “I’m Howard Briggs. I’m not a man who likes to punch down, but theft and harassment cannot go unanswered. However, I’m a man of mercy. If this boy gets on his knees and apologizes right now, I won't file the police report. I’ll even let him pay only half the damages. What do you say, kid?” He had already sentenced me without a trial. “Mr. Briggs,” I said, my voice echoing in the quiet room. “If it turns out Lexi actually ordered the lemonade, what then?” Howard looked at Lexi for a fraction of a second. She puffed out her chest. “Howard, don't you trust me?” That was all he needed. “If we’re wrong, I’ll fire her on the spot and pay you ten thousand dollars for the 'emotional distress.' Deal?” “Deal.” The paper receipt was gone. My only proof was the digital record. I reached into my pocket for my phone, but my heart skipped a beat. It was gone. “Are you looking for this?” Lexi smiled, holding up my phone. It was dripping wet. “You’re so clumsy. You dropped it right into the lemonade.” I grabbed it and tried to wake the screen. Nothing. It was fried. 4 The hotel staff started chanting. “Just kneel! It’s a thousand bucks!” “Don't be an idiot, you’re gonna get fired anyway!” “Kneel! Kneel!” The pressure was a physical weight, a roar of sound designed to break a man’s spirit. “Someone will prove it,” I whispered, but my voice was drowned out. Howard shook his head with mock disappointment. “I tried to be nice. Time for the call.” He dialed the dispatch center. The manager there, a man I knew to be cold and calculating, answered with a voice like honey. “Mr. Briggs! What an honor. How can we help you today?” Howard smirked at me. “Your courier, Ben Sullivan? He swapped a high-end order for some trash lemonade, probably drank the original, and now he’s harassing my assistant. I want a formal termination.” The manager didn’t hesitate. “Consider it done, Mr. Briggs. I am so sorry for the inconvenience. He’s fired, and we’ll be docking his final pay for the damages. Anything else?” The manager could have checked the back-end system. He could have seen the truth with two clicks. But Howard Briggs was a "Diamond Tier" client. His companies used our service for everything. One courier's life was a small price to pay for Howard's continued business. “Manager! Wait!” I screamed. Howard put the phone on speaker. The manager’s voice turned venomous. “Ben? You still there? You’ve got a lot of nerve. Pack your locker. You’re done.” Tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away. “If I have proof that I’m innocent, what will you do then?” The manager laughed. “If you have proof, I’ll personally apologize to you on a public stage and pay you a bonus. But you don't. So get out.” He felt safe. The evidence was in his hands, and he wasn't going to look for it. “Fine,” I said. I looked at the clock on the wall. Five minutes until 8:00 PM. The internet was still tearing me apart. Just kneel, you idiot! Are you really going to waste your mom's medical fund on pride? He doesn't care about his mom. He’s a narcissist. Lexi was tagging her own company in every post, basking in the "positive" attention they were getting for being "merciful." Orders for Briggs Appliances were reportedly spiking. Howard put his arm around Lexi. “My patience is wearing thin. Kneel or get dragged out by the cops.” I held up a finger. “Three minutes.” They exchanged a look. “Three minutes for what? You losing your mind?” I held up two fingers. “Two minutes.” The crowd started to murmur. They didn't understand. “Final minute countdown!” I shouted. The commenters on the stream started joining in, thinking it was a joke. 30 seconds! 20! Is he gonna do a backflip? “Ten, nine, eight...” I led the room in the count. “Five, four, three, two, one!” I stood up straight and pointed at Lexi’s phone. “Check your comments now.” She looked down. Within seconds, the blood drained from her face.
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