Chapter 111: Intetionally Mislabelled

While Patricia was focused on organizing her herbs and spices, something caught my eye in the shadow of the courtyard corridor.

I turned my head slightly and spotted her ex-boss standing near the archway, holding an ice pack against his swollen jaw. Our eyes met across the open space. Instead of flinching or glaring, a cold, greasy smile spread across his face before he turned on his heel and quietly melted back into the shadows.

It wasn’t a look of defeat. It was the look of a rat who thought he had just set a trap.

Definitely not a good sign, I thought, my eyes narrowing as I made a mental note to check in with Chloe later. But whatever scheme he had brewing could wait. Right now, this was Patricia’s moment.

I turned my attention back to the grill, and within minutes, she was putting on a absolute masterclass.

The way her hands moved was art. She sliced the A5 Wagyu against the grain with effortless, fluid precision, searing it on the glowing ceramic grill just long enough to render the rich fat without losing a single drop of flavor. She dusted it with a custom blend of toasted sea salt, freshly cracked sansho pepper, and a micro-drizzle of aged yuzu glaze she mixed right at the counter.

The moment the meat hit the hot iron, an insane, mouth-watering aroma wafted across the table. Rich, smoky, savory, and sharp—it hit my nose so fast my mouth literally started watering on the spot.

"Alright," Patricia said, holding up a sizzling, perfectly glazed piece with her chopsticks, a triumphant grin on her glowing face. "Open up. Let’s see if my skills pass the test."

I took the piece of Wagyu right from her chopsticks. The second it hit my tongue, the melt-in-your-mouth fat combined with the sharp, citrusy crunch of the spice glaze hit like an absolute masterpiece. Every single element was perfectly balanced.

"Patricia... this is literally perfection," I said, my eyes widening.

Her face practically lit up the entire courtyard. A radiant, genuine smile spread across her lips, and she sat back, resting her chin in her hands, just watching me eat with sheer joy in her eyes. I picked up my chopsticks and went in for piece after piece, thoroughly enjoying the meal.

After downing halfway through the steak, I looked up and noticed she hadn’t taken a single bite of her own portion yet.

"Hey," I chuckled between bites. "Aren’t you going to eat yours?"

That snapped her right out of her trance. "Oh! Right, yeah!"

She picked up a slice of the meat she had prepared, brought it to her mouth, and took a bite. She chewed twice—and then her entire expression froze.

The joy instantly drained from her face, replaced by absolute, cold shock. She didn’t even swallow. She immediately turned and spat the bite directly into a napkin, her breath catching in her throat.

"Ethan, stop! Don’t eat it! Spit it out right now!" she gasped, her voice trembling with sudden panic.

"What?" I blinked, holding my chopsticks mid-air, a bit confused. "Why? I’ve already eaten half of it—"

Before I could finish my sentence, Patricia’s hands flew across the table to the spice rack. She snatched up the small ceramic jar labeled Ginger, pulling the cork out and smelling it frantically.

Her eyes dilated in sheer horror as she stared at the white powder inside.

"This isn’t ginger..." she whispered, her voice dropping into a frantic, terrifying tremble. She looked at me, her face pale as a sheet. "Ethan... oh my god, what did he put in this?!"

Patricia dipped the tip of her pinky into the jar and touched it to her tongue.

"It’s ground mustard powder," she gasped, her hands shaking as she looked at the heavy coating on the remaining meat. "He relabeled it! I added way too much because I thought it was ginger..."

My heart immediately settled, a huge wave of relief washing over me. I let out a dry laugh and set my chopsticks down. "Mustard? Is that it? Man, you had me thinking I was taking my last breath. I thought it was actual poison!"

I leaned back, totally unbothered. It was just a heavy dosage of an ingredient, not cyanide. Nothing to panic about.

But then... a strange, sharp burn hit the back of my throat.

At first, it was just a mild sting, but within seconds, it multiplied into a blinding, fiery heat that completely choked off my airway. My stomach violently churned, flipping upside down as a massive wave of nausea slammed into me like a freight train. The sheer quantity of pure, concentrated mustard powder hitting my stomach on an empty, hot-spring-relaxed digestive tract was trigger-happy poison to my gut.

My throat constricted, and my eyes immediately began to water.

"Ethan?" Patricia’s voice panicked as she saw my face turn pale.

I couldn’t even answer. I pushed my chair back so fast it clattered onto the floorboards, clamped a hand over my mouth, and bolted toward the private restroom in a sprint.

"Ethan!" Patricia cried out, dropping the jar and running right behind me.

I threw open the heavy wooden restroom door, dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, and completely lost the entire meal. My stomach violently purged the rich A5 Wagyu and the concentrated spice mix, the fiery sensation burning twice as hard on the way back up.

Patricia rushed in right behind me, kneeling on the cold tile floor beside me. Her face was frantic with guilt and worry as she pulled my hair back with one hand and gently rubbed my back with the other, keeping me anchored as my body tried to push out every last drop of the tainted food.

I flushed the toilet and leaned back against the cool tile wall, taking a deep, shuddering breath as my stomach finally settled down. I wiped my mouth with a damp towel, looking over at Patricia.

"Much better..." I gasped out, taking a sip of water she handed me.

She looked like she was on the verge of breaking down completely. Her eyes were red, filled with overwhelming guilt and fear. "Ethan, I’m so, so sorry," she choked out, her hands trembling. "A real chef always checks the raw ingredients first... I was so arrogant, I just assumed... I almost poisoned you—"

"Hey, stop," I said firmly, reaching out and gently taking her shaking hands in mine. "Look at me. This wasn’t your fault. Someone deliberately tampered with that spice rack. You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? Calm down."

She took a shaky breath, nodding slowly as my steady tone helped anchor her panic.

Once I was fully back on my feet, we stepped back out into the bright open courtyard. And there he was.

Her ex-boss was sitting just a few tables away, leaning back in total relaxation, calmly cutting into his own juicy slab of steak with a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face. He looked like a man who had just watched his trap spring perfectly.

A fresh wave of anger surged right back into my chest. I marched straight over to his table. Before he could even lift his fork, I grabbed him by his designer collar, dragging him halfway out of his seat.

"You piece of trash,"