The Wellness Protocol

Elena shouldn't have opened the email attachment. That was her first mistake. Her second was trusting Sarah.

They'd met at a startup accelerator three years ago—Sarah, the charismatic founder of a wellness tech company, and Elena, the disillusioned data scientist looking for meaning. They bonded over late-night deliveries and shared dreams of disrupting the healthcare industry. Sarah became Elena's closest friend, the person she called when her mother died, the one who held her hair back after the company holiday party.

Now, looking at the stolen documents on her screen, Elena understood: Sarah had been a spy all along. Not for a government, but for Elena's competitor. Every intimate conversation, every vulnerable moment—Sarah had been gathering intelligence, packaging Elena's trade secrets, selling them to the highest bidder.

The irony twisted like a knife: Sarah's wellness empire was built on vitamin supplements that contained exactly none of what they promised. All those times Sarah had pushed those little blue pills on Elena, lecturing her about self-care and bioavailability—she'd been poisoning her, literally and figuratively.

Elena remembered their last dinner. Sarah had ordered the spinach salad, going on about how inflammation was the root of all disease, how proper nutrition could fix anything. "You're deficient in so many ways, El," she'd said, her voice syrupy with false concern. "Let me help you."

The spinach sat in Elena's refrigerator now, wilting in the crisper drawer. She'd bought it after that dinner, after Sarah's convincing pitch about antioxidants and cellular regeneration. Another lie in a meal made of them.

Her phone buzzed. Sarah's name lit up the screen: "Coffee? I have news about your competitor's new product line. I can help you beat them."

Elena deleted the message. Then she blocked the number. Then she threw out the spinach.