Episode 4

"My neck feels like it's about to break. You're really heartless to let your wife sleep curled up like a dried shrimp on that sofa."

Ziva stretched her stiff body. A soft cracking sound came from her spine. She glanced cynically at the man sitting silently in a wheelchair near the window. Elzian was neatly dressed in a white shirt rolled up to his elbows, looking fresh and dominant, as if nothing had happened last night.

Elzian didn't turn his head. He remained focused on the tablet in his lap. "You're still alive. That means the sofa is comfortable enough."

"Comfortable, my foot," Ziva muttered softly, grabbing a towel and walking towards the bathroom.

Half an hour later, Ziva went down to the dining room. The aroma of fresh coffee and toast filled the air, making her stomach rumble. She sat across from Elzian, who was calmly enjoying his black coffee.

A middle-aged woman in a butler's uniform approached. Her name was Mrs. Marta. Ziva knew from the woman's condescending gaze that she was an 'old hand' loyal to Elzian's stepmother.

"Please, Miss," Mrs. Marta said, placing the plate in front of Ziva with a slight thump. The clanging of the plate against the marble table sounded loud.

Ziva looked at the contents of her plate. Two slices of white bread with slightly hard edges and peanut butter that looked oily. Meanwhile, on Elzian's plate, there were warm croissants, eggs benedict, and fresh fruit.

"Is this all?" Ziva asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mrs. Marta smiled thinly, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sorry, Miss. Our chef hasn't had time to shop for premium ingredients. Besides, I thought Miss Ziva was used to eating simple food in your uncle's cramped house. So I didn't prepare a special menu. Ordinary people's tongues might be shocked if they're immediately given expensive food."

The atmosphere was instantly silent. The other servants lowered their heads, afraid to see the reaction of their boss's new wife being openly insulted.

Elzian didn't comment. He sipped his coffee, his eyes glancing from behind the cup, waiting for Ziva's reaction. Would this woman cry? Or complain to him?

Ziva chuckled softly instead. "How thoughtful of you, Mrs. Marta."

Ziva took the silver knife beside her plate. Not to cut the bread, but she lifted the bread and scraped the surface of the plate with the tip of the knife. She took a clean white napkin and wiped the scraped area.

The white napkin was now stained yellowish. Oil and fine dust.

"Call the Chef here. Now," Ziva ordered. Her voice was flat, but her aura made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up.

Mrs. Marta snorted, but still called the chef. A fat man in a white hat came hurrying in. "Y-yes, Ma'am?"

"Look at this," Ziva threw the dirty napkin in front of the Chef. "This plate is damp. There's a layer of oil that hasn't been washed off properly. Do you know what happens when residual animal fat meets room temperature humidity for more than six hours?"

The chef stammered. "T-that..."

"Salmonella and E. coli bacteria are feasting on this plate," Ziva interrupted coldly. She looked at the bread on her plate with a look of disgust as if she were seeing a rat carcass. "Do you know the symptoms if these bacteria get into your intestines? At first, your stomach will cramp terribly. Then you'll vomit bitter green liquid."

Ziva stood up, walking slowly around Mrs. Marta, who was starting to get restless.

"After that, bloody diarrhea will start coming out. Not just once, but continuously until your body fluid is depleted. Your eyes will be sunken, your kidneys will fail due to acute dehydration, and you will die slowly while begging for water," Ziva whispered right in Mrs. Marta's ear. Her description was so vivid and terrifying.

The Chef's face was pale. Mrs. Marta covered her mouth, looking nauseous imagining Ziva's graphic explanation.

At the end of the table, the corner of Elzian's lips lifted into a thin grin. He was enjoying this show. His wife wasn't a guinea pig, but a venomous snake.

Ziva sat back down, then pushed the dirty plate of bread towards Mrs. Marta.

"Eat," Ziva ordered briefly.

Mrs. Marta's eyes widened. "W-what? Are you crazy? This is leftover—I mean, this..."

"You said this is food fit for the tongue of an ordinary person like me, right?" Ziva cut in sharply. Her gaze was piercing, merciless. "If this plate is clean and the food is decent, you wouldn't hesitate to eat it. Eat it now. If you don't vomit or have diarrhea in two hours, then I'll admit this house is clean and you can stay working here."

Mrs. Marta's hands trembled violently as she touched the plate. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead. She knew very well that the plate was leftover from yesterday that had only been rinsed with water, and the bread was indeed leftover.

"I-I can't..." Mrs. Marta squeaked.

"Eat or get out of this house!" Ziva shouted, slamming the table.

Mrs. Marta was startled. Without excusing herself, the woman immediately turned and ran towards the kitchen sobbing, followed by the horrified gazes of the other servants. The Chef hurriedly took the dirty plate and ran away, afraid that he would be told to eat it.

The dining room was silent again. Ziva sighed deeply, took an apple from the fruit basket in the middle of the table—the only food that hadn't been touched by the dirty hands of the servants—and bit into it with a crisp crunch.

Elzian put his cup down slowly. Soft applause was heard from his direction.

"Impressive," Elzian said, his tone sounding amused mixed with sarcasm. "You just fired a senior servant who has worked for ten years in the Drystan family. She's my stepmother's confidante. Who's going to take care of this big house now?"

Ziva chewed her apple casually, then looked at Elzian without guilt.

"I don't need a servant who is loyal to your enemy," Ziva replied lightly while wiping the corner of her lips. "And most importantly, I need a sterile environment, not a nest of germs."

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