The male colleagues acted like they'd been hypnotized, tripping over each other to clean up her mess.

She got a meeting time wrong and made the entire department stay late. All she had to do was pout and coo, "Oopsie, Stacy's such a scatterbrain~"

The department manager just laughed it off: "She's young. Mistakes happen."

Meanwhile, because I refused to participate in this juvenile theater, I gradually got labeled as cold, unapproachable, and jealous of the new girl.

I couldn't be bothered to care.

But I didn't expect the flames to reach me so soon.

Wednesday afternoon, I ordered Japanese food.

I walked briskly to the front desk—only to find my takeout container already open.

Half the sashimi was gone. The sushi had been gnawed into a mangled mess.

Stacy spotted me and lit up, bouncing over.

"Hee hee, baby was so hungry, I didn't look carefully before eating~ Big sis isn't mad, right?"

She tilted her head, all wide-eyed innocence, but smugness flickered beneath the surface.

I'd been slammed with work all day. My blood sugar had crashed. Black spots swam in my vision. I snapped:

"My name is written right on the label. You didn't see it?"

Stacy blinked, then suddenly covered her mouth, eyes reddening:

"I'm sorry~ Stacy has bad eyesight, and big sis's name is so complicated... Stacy reads slowly..."

I didn't have the energy to argue. I just wanted her to order me a replacement.

Instead, she started crying, all wounded innocence: "Big sis is so mean... Stacy's scared..."

That's when my boyfriend Arnold James appeared out of nowhere, pulling the teary-eyed Stacy behind him. He turned to me with a frown:

"It's just a takeout order. She ate it, so what? Stacy didn't do it on purpose. Why do you have to be so aggressive about it?"

"How much was it? I'll just transfer you the money!"

I almost laughed from sheer disbelief.

"When was I being aggressive? She ate my food. I asked her to order me a replacement. Is that unreasonable?"

"I've been working all day without a single bite to eat!"

Stacy immediately rummaged through her drawer and pulled out some off-brand snack cake that looked like it had been sitting there since the Stone Age. She shoved it into my hands, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness:

"Stacy ate sissy's lunch, so here—take Stacy's little cakey as a trade..."

She wanted to swap a dollar-store reject for my high-end sushi?

I tossed the cake right back at her.