Miranda had lost count of how many times she had replayed the events in her mind—the humiliation, the betrayal, the cruel laughter that had shattered her trust. But no matter how many times she relived it, the pain remained just as fresh.

She had come to this country with dreams, working hard to build a life for herself. Even after her breakup with Colin became public knowledge, even when the whispers followed her like shadows, she had pressed on. But nothing could have prepared her for the moment he and Leslie waltzed into her workplace, determined to reduce her to nothing once again.

She had hoped Michael, her boss, would show some sympathy when she begged to be assigned to a different table. Instead, he barely looked at her. “We all have things to deal with, Miranda. I need you to do your job, not run away.”

So she swallowed her pride, smoothed down her apron, and walked to their table with her head held high.

Colin leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Look who it is,” he drawled. “Miranda, serving tables. I guess some people really do find their calling in the service industry, huh?”

Leslie giggled beside him, twirling a strand of hair. “Oh, be nice, Colin. She’s working hard,” she said, voice laced with mockery. “Say, Miranda, can you get us something really spicy? We want the full experience.”

Miranda clenched her fists beneath her tray. “Of course,” she said, forcing a smile. “Anything else?”

Colin’s smirk widened. “Oops,” he said, deliberately dropping his fork. “Be a doll and pick that up for me.”

Leslie clapped her hands, laughing. “Oh, look at her! She’s so good at picking things up!”

Miranda bent down, her heart pounding, cheeks burning with shame. The laughter, the stares—it was too much. She barely managed to keep her composure as she placed the fork back on the table.

“Thanks,” Colin said, his voice dripping with false kindness. “Such a team player.”

The humiliation didn’t end there. When Miranda returned with their order—a traditional Mexican stew—Colin took one bite and made a face. “Not spicy enough,” he announced before flipping his plate over, sending food splattering all over her uniform.

Leslie let out a cackle. “Oh no! Someone call housekeeping!”

Miranda felt her composure crack. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them see her break. Without a word, she turned and walked straight into the kitchen, her breath ragged as she hid in a corner, trying to hold herself together.

A voice broke through her despair. “Here,” Chef Robert said, holding out a kitchen towel. “Take this.”

She took it, gripping the fabric as if it could hold her together. She had always known Robert to be kind, a steady presence in the chaos of the kitchen.

“You’re stronger than you think, Miranda,” he said. “Don’t let people like that make you forget it.”

And that’s when she told him everything—about Colin, about Leslie, about the night that had ruined her life.

It had started with a party.

Colin had begged her to go, promising her a night to remember. Leslie, her then-roommate, had encouraged her, insisting that missing one night of studying wouldn’t ruin her future.

Miranda had believed them.

She had walked into that club, a little unsure, a little hesitant. But then Colin had handed her a drink, telling her it would help her relax. And so she had sipped, then sipped again, letting the alcohol dull her worries.

The next morning, she had woken up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers in various states of undress. Panic had surged through her veins as fragmented memories flashed in her mind.

By the time she got back to campus, whispers followed her every step. She didn’t understand until the dean summoned her, face lined with disapproval.

“I’m deeply disappointed,” he had said, sliding a tablet across the desk.

And there it was—photos, videos, all taken without her knowledge. Her so-called “wild night” was now public property.

She had run to Colin, desperate for an explanation, only to find him with Leslie.

“Look who’s here,” Colin had sneered. “What, you think I’m going to fix your little problem?”

Leslie had laughed. “Oh, Miranda. Did you really think Colin liked you? It was a bet. Two weeks—that’s all it took for him to make you fall for it.”

Their laughter still rang in her ears.

“I lost everything,” Miranda whispered to Robert. “My reputation, my education. And now, they walk in here, and they still think they can humiliate me.”

Robert exhaled. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to make them pay,” she said. “Just once.”

He hesitated. “Miranda…”

“Please,” she said, looking at him with determination. “Just once.”

After a long pause, Robert sighed. “Alright,” he muttered. “But let’s keep it low-key.”

She wasted no time. With careful hands, she mixed an extra-spicy sauce, stronger than anything Colin had ever tasted. She soaked a napkin in it, pressing out the excess before handing it to Robert.

When Colin and Leslie got their food, they sneered at her again. “This is spicy?” Leslie scoffed. “This is what you call authentic?”

Colin wiped his mouth with the napkin.

And that’s when the spice hit.

His eyes bulged. His skin flushed deep red. He gasped, clawing at his throat as he coughed violently.

“Colin?” Leslie asked, alarmed.

Colin fumbled for water, but it was too late. The spice had already taken hold.

Laughter rippled through the restaurant. Leslie’s cheeks flushed as she realized they had become the joke.

Unable to handle the embarrassment, she grabbed her purse. “This is unbearable! We’re done!” she snapped before storming out.

Colin barely managed to stagger after her, his ego—and his taste buds—burned beyond repair.

Miranda stood still, watching them go, her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile.

Then, Colin turned, voice hoarse but furious. “She did something to my food! She should lose her job!”

Michael, who had been watching the scene unfold, calmly stepped in. He took a bite of the stew and raised an eyebrow. “This dish is perfectly fine.”

Colin gaped. “She—she messed with it!”

Michael’s gaze was steady. “Miranda has worked here for a long time. She wouldn’t sabotage a meal.”

Colin searched the room for support, but all he found were amused stares.

Michael leaned in slightly. “You know, Colin,” he said coolly, “sometimes, the heat doesn’t come from the food. It comes from the way we treat people.”

Colin had no response.

As he stumbled out of the restaurant, Miranda exhaled, a weight lifting off her shoulders.

She had stood up for herself.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt free.