Chapter 2

I burst straight into the livestream, cutting Tina off mid-bite as I raised the twenty takeout boxes in my hands.

"Tina, you can't keep eating like this. It's bad for your health. Let me take over. You should rest a while."

She lifted her head from the bowl, baffled. "Shirley, I'm streaming right now. Could you please not interfere?"

I edged my way into the camera's frame, deliberately exposing my face. Before coming, I had carefully applied makeup. Combined with my naturally slimmer figure, I appeared far more striking than Tina.

At this point she was still a nobody, a small-time streamer with no loyal fanbase. The moment viewers saw me, the chat lit up, demanding to watch me eat instead.

Tina, unwilling to scold me in front of the camera, had no choice but to stand aside and let me take her place.

I started with a box of cut fruit, mostly mango—something Tina was severely allergic to.

I'd bought it on purpose. I needed to know: was this transfer system mutual? If I ate something she couldn't, would she suffer the reaction instead?

I polished off the mango slices while the comments poured in, praising my graceful eating, saying I made the food look appetizing. A few wealthy fans even sent me expensive gifts through the livestream channel.

I turned to Tina with a faint smile. "Looks like everyone prefers watching me eat. But don't worry, I'm only experimenting today. All the gifts belong to you. I won't take a cent."

Her expression darkened at having the spotlight stolen, though she kept her anger in check. I studied her face closely, searching for hives or swelling.

Nothing. No rash, no reaction—only suppressed fury.

Maybe one box of fruit wasn't enough. I brought out a cup of mango sago and a towering mango mille crêpe cake.

Tina tried to salvage her ground. "Shirley, I'm just starting my career as a streamer. If you want to stream, use your own account. Why steal mine? Please, step aside and let me continue. If you insist, then let's eat together. We'll see who can eat more."

She reached for her snail noodles, ready to dive in.

I snatched the bowl from her hands and held it up to the camera. "I'm doing this for your health. Look at all this chili—paired with ice-cold cola, it'll wreck your stomach. Do you know how many cases of stomach cancer come from habits like this? If you really want to eat, have some porridge. It's much gentler."

I opened one of the deliveries: a box of chicken porridge.

The viewers were delighted by my thoughtfulness. The comments praised me as both beautiful and kindhearted, showering the stream with more gifts and urging Tina to rest—they wanted to keep watching me instead.

Tina turned to Nick for help, but he was grinning ear to ear at the backend revenue. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter who sat in front of the camera—money was money. And I was earning more than Tina ever had.

Ignoring the discomfort building in my stomach, I forced down the mango sago and the mille crêpe cake. Still, Tina showed no signs of an allergic reaction.

In the past, even a single bite of mango would leave her covered in hives, her face swollen beyond recognition.

Damn it. So the transfer was one-sided after all. Everything she ate was dumped into me, but nothing I ate ever transferred back.

By now, I was so stuffed I couldn't take another bite. I lifted my phone toward the camera and forced a cheerful tone.

"It's getting late, darlings. Time to sleep. Staying up too late isn't healthy. Let's meet again another day."

After saying goodbye, I ended the stream with a single tap.

Back in my car, I grabbed a plastic bag and retched until I was dizzy, vomiting out everything I had just swallowed.