The Fake Food Influencer’s Downfall

My husband was keeping a mistress behind my back. And this mistress happened to be a somewhat famous food influencer on the internet.

Every day, she showed off on her social media, flaunting the lovingly prepared lunches she had made for her boyfriend. Those exquisite meals packed in delicate wooden boxes earned her countless gasps of admiration from her followers.

But those crazy fans hitting the like button had no idea about the truth. Every single bite of that food was meticulously chosen and prepared by me. I dragged myself out of bed at five in the morning, standing in the kitchen until my eyes were completely bloodshot.

I sacrificed everything for my husband. And this betrayal was my only reward.

A few weeks later, right during her most popular live stream, I put on a delivery uniform and knocked on the door of her luxury apartment.

In front of hundreds of thousands of viewers, I held up a long delivery receipt directly to the camera.

"Miss, this is the twenty-third premium private chef meal you ordered from our store this month. If you are satisfied with the taste, please leave a five-star review on the app."

The live chat, which had been flooded with hearts and praises just a second ago, was instantly drowned in a massive wave of question marks.

She had no idea this was only the first step of dragging them straight to hell.

The whole thing started on a perfectly normal afternoon. I was leaning against the couch scrolling through short videos when the algorithm pushed a food influencer's update to my feed.

The cover of the video showed a young girl with immaculate makeup wearing a silk slip dress. Sitting right in front of her was a very familiar handmade walnut wood bento box.

Immediately after, a sickly sweet and overly rehearsed voice drifted out of my phone speaker. "Hello babies! Today I am sharing a brand new recipe I developed called Black Truffle Angel Hair Pasta. This dish requires extremely strict knife skills and temperature control. But for him, all the hard work is totally worth it."

The camera cut to a close-up of the dish. The hand-kneaded pasta was sliced as thin as strands of hair, topped with expensive caviar and micro-herbs.

I frowned. My heart skipped a heavy beat. Everything from the plating to the ingredients was exactly identical to the lunch I had packed for my husband early this morning.

But the thing that truly made my scalp tingle was that walnut wood box.

It was an exact replica of the one my husband used. There was a very faint scratch right next to the brass latch. That was a flaw I accidentally left behind with my carving knife when I polished the wood myself years ago.

I held my breath and clicked into the profile named "LexiBites."

Six hundred thousand followers.

The influencer's real name was Lexi.

I scrolled through her posts from the past month. There were fifteen heavily edited lunch videos, and every single one felt like a heavy hammer smashing against my nerves.

French butter-baked lobster. I had stayed up for several nights researching Michelin recipes just to recreate that dish for our fifth wedding anniversary.

Twelve-hour slow-simmered Wagyu consomme. Just last week, my husband Henry complained about feeling under the weather. I stood by the stove for half a day and night just to nourish his body.

Every single dish was infused with my blood, sweat, and tears.

They were the result of me standing in a freezing kitchen at five in the morning, fighting off exhaustion just to provide for my husband.

And now, all my love and devotion had been framed as Lexi's proud masterpieces.

They became the stepping stones for her perfect girlfriend persona. They became the chips she used to flaunt her fake romance to hundreds of thousands of strangers.

My trembling fingers opened the comment section. It was entirely filled with overwhelming envy.

"Oh my god, she is the absolute perfect girlfriend! I am so jealous. Guys, I want to marry her!"

"Her knife skills are insane. This is literally Michelin level!"

The phone screen went dark, reflecting my pale and haggard face.

The light in my eyes slowly died out, but a fire deep within started burning brighter than ever.

For the past five years, I completely abandoned my dream of opening a high-end private restaurant just to be the woman behind Henry. I willingly trapped myself between the grease and the stove.

In the end, my sacrifices became nothing but a massive joke in someone else's eyes.

I did not know how long I sat frozen on that couch. By the time I snapped out of it, I had already dialed my former assistant Sarah.

"Sarah, look someone up for me right now. An influencer named LexiBites. Real name Lexi. I want a deep dive into her entire background. Most importantly, I need to know exactly what kind of dirty business is going on between her and my husband Henry."

Less than half an hour later, an encrypted file quietly landed in my inbox.

Lexi was twenty-five years old. She was a micro-influencer recently signed to the exact marketing agency where Henry worked.

And Henry, coincidentally enough, was her direct talent manager.

Attached at the bottom of the email were several high-resolution candid photos taken in a dimly lit underground parking garage. In the photos, Henry and Lexi were standing incredibly close to each other. His hand was naturally raised, affectionately tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Looking at that gesture full of possessiveness and tenderness, I felt a suffocating pang in my chest.

Good. This was just perfect.

Henry and Lexi.

One was the thief, the other fenced the stolen goods. They were truly a match made in heaven.

Since they loved acting in front of the camera so much, I did not mind getting my hands dirty to build them a world-class stage.

I was going to let the entire internet enjoy a front-row seat to their sickening, picture-perfect romance.

The next evening, Henry came home from work right on time. At the dinner table, I served him a bowl of soup as usual and spoke in a very casual tone.

"Honey, my old private chef studio just landed a groundbreaking catering gig. A massive tech company in Silicon Valley specifically requested me to be the executive chef for their annual gala."

He paused his steak knife, his eyes lighting up immediately. "Really? That is amazing, baby! This is an opportunity of a lifetime."

I pursed my lips, offering a perfectly timed, guilty smile. "It is a great opportunity. But for the next entire month, I will probably be buried in the studio developing the new menu. I doubt I will even have time to sleep."

I paused for a second, looking straight into his eyes.

"So I really won't have the time to prep your lunch boxes every morning."

Just as I expected, the smile on his face froze instantly. A brief flash of panic crossed his eyes. But his cover-up was flawless. He simply took a sip of red wine without changing his expression.

"That is totally fine. Work comes first. I can just order some delivery or eat at the restaurant downstairs. Please do not stress over it."

I sneered in my heart. Totally fine? If his lunch supply was cut off, Lexi's daily video content would dry up completely. How could he not be panicking?

I could bet my life that within three days, he would be beating around the bush begging me for help.

When that time came, I would personally hand this cheating couple a gift they would never forget.

Over the next two days, I set my plan into motion with ruthless efficiency. The first step was registering a private kitchen on an elite delivery app designed specifically for wealthy neighborhoods.

I spent an entire afternoon perfecting the visual aesthetics of the storefront.

The shop was named "Velvet Spoon."

The avatar was a minimalist black and gold logo. The bio consisted of a single, cold line: Providing only the ultimate customized private dining experience. Every meal is an unrepeatable piece of art. Serious inquiries only.

Everything was ready.

I just needed to wait for the rats to walk into the trap.

Sure enough, on the third night, Henry furiously poked at the salad on his plate and let out a very deliberate, heavy sigh.

"Man, eating those mass-produced diet meals at work for the past few days has completely ruined my appetite. I am so used to your god-tier cooking. Outside food is basically inedible."

I put down my fork. Frowning, I put on a highly distressed act. "Henry, it is not that I want to be cruel and ignore you. This project is at its most critical stage right now. I am working around the clock."

Seeing the growing frustration in his eyes, I quickly pivoted.

"However..."

I pulled out my phone and pushed the screen toward him. It was the ordering page for Velvet Spoon.

"A friend in the catering circle recommended this place to me. They specialize in ultra-luxury private meals and only take a limited number of orders every day. I reviewed their menu with a very critical eye. Their ingredients and techniques are honestly even more meticulous than mine. You can order from them for now to treat your stomach."

Henry stared at the exquisite food photos on the screen, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. "Are you serious? Can it really be as good as your cooking?"

"Absolutely." My tone was firm, carrying the authority of a professional. "The head chef has incredible skills, and many of their rare ingredients are flown in daily. You can trust me on this. It will definitely hit the spot."

His eyes darted around. He probably figured that a place recommended by an executive chef like me could not possibly be bad. Passing it off to Lexi for her videos would definitely work.

He immediately put on a grateful smile. "Alright. As long as you recommend it, I will place an order tomorrow."

Early the next morning, my phone screen lit up with a crisp notification chime.

Client Lexi placed a six-hundred-dollar order for a "Chef's Exclusive Blind Box Meal."

The delivery address was a highly secured luxury apartment building downtown, a place I had never set foot in.

I stared at the name on the order, a cold smirk curling on my lips.

Turning around to enter the kitchen, I tied on my dark black apron and began prepping the ingredients methodically.

It was the same premium Wagyu beef. The same tedious cooking process.

But this time, to make the evidence completely airtight, I had set up high-definition cameras in every blind spot of the kitchen. From trimming the meat to julienning the vegetables, and all the way to the precise final plating, every single movement was recorded in crystal clarity.

A red timestamp accurate to the second flashed in the bottom right corner of the footage.

Not only that, but when adding the final garnishes to each dish, I used a special edible pigment that only glowed under UV light. I painted a tiny, exclusive watermark at the bottom of an inconspicuous side dish.

At exactly seven-thirty in the morning, Lexi's video went live on her social platforms.

In the footage, she smiled at the camera like an innocent angel, carefully opening that terribly familiar walnut wood box.

"Good morning babies! Look at how breathtaking today's bento is! To get this perfect color, I was busy in the kitchen since five AM. Honestly, I am so exhausted. But whenever I think about the look of surprise on his face when he opens it for lunch, I feel like all the hard work is worth it."

She babbled on about her so-called cooking tips, completely omitting the fact that this was a six-hundred-dollar takeout order.

Of course she couldn't mention it.

Her meticulously crafted label was the perfect girlfriend who cooked with love. If she admitted these art-like meals were bought with money, her fragile tower of lies would instantly collapse.

Just like that, an absurd and sickening cycle was officially established.

For every single delivery and pickup that followed, I hired private investigators to record the entire handoff process from start to finish.

Every exorbitant meal payment was processed through corporate bank accounts, leaving behind undeniable transfer records in the banking system.

A full month passed. Day after day.

During this month, I acted like an emotionless machine, personally serving twenty-three exquisite meals to my own rival.

And Lexi, feeding off my blood and sweat, crazily pumped out fifteen viral videos with millions of views. Her follower count skyrocketed from six hundred thousand to eight hundred thousand. Moreover, she signed five endorsement deals with high-end kitchenware and food brands in one breath. The total endorsement fees amounted to millions of dollars.

The massive profit completely blinded her. She even started dropping bold hints in her core fan group, claiming that she and her mysterious, wealthy boyfriend were about to walk down the aisle.

As for Henry, his status at the agency rose alongside his cash cow's soaring popularity. His attitude toward me became unprecedentedly gentle and considerate. A few days ago, he even bought me a limited-edition Hermes bag, claiming it was a fat bonus he got for leading a highly successful project.

I sat on the couch holding that expensive leather bag against my chest. Looking into his eyes full of deep affection and deceit, I felt a violent wave of nausea churn in my stomach.

Using dirty money earned by draining my lifeblood to buy me a pacifying gift?

This was truly the most vicious dark comedy in the world.

Swallowing the disgust, I gently looped my arm through his, blooming with an incredibly gentle smile. "Thank you, honey. You are so good to me."

I was waiting.

Like a hunter holding her breath in the dark, waiting for the exact moment the prey let its guard down completely.

I wanted to wait until she climbed to the clouds, to the absolute peak where everyone was looking up at her. And then, I would personally and ruthlessly kick away the ladder I had built for her.

I wanted to watch her fall from the sky, shattering into pieces, never to recover.

And that perfect moment was fast approaching.

To permanently solidify Lexi's genius chef title, her management agency poured massive funds into planning a huge live stream event to pamper her fans.

They bombarded every social media platform with teaser ads. They claimed Lexi would flawlessly recreate her hardest signature dish live in front of hundreds of thousands of fans this Saturday at eight PM. It was meant to be a vicious slap in the face to all the haters who accused her of using a ghost chef.

The moment this bombshell dropped, her eight hundred thousand followers completely lost their minds. They flooded the comments, swearing to camp in the live stream to witness their goddess's moment of glory.

I stared at the provocative promo poster on my phone screen.

The blood in my veins began to boil. I knew the time to close the net had finally arrived.

At seven PM on Saturday, I pushed open my walk-in closet and pulled out a grey delivery uniform I had prepared long ago. I put on a black baseball cap and a thick medical mask, hiding my features flawlessly.

Finally, I personally packed the freshly cooked, steaming ultimate love bento into a massive black thermal delivery bag.

At seven fifty-five PM, my car parked precisely outside Lexi's luxury apartment building.

At eight PM sharp, Lexi's live stream kicked off amidst a frenzy of comments.

On screen, she was wearing a pure white silk French dress that hugged her curves perfectly. The open kitchen behind her glowed with warm ambient lighting. The marble countertops were spotless, looking as if they had never seen a drop of real grease.

"Hello babies, I am right on time! Seeing the chat going so crazy makes me want to cry! To thank you all for your love, tonight I will show you step by step how to make the highly requested French butter-baked lobster right here on camera!"

The screen was instantly buried in colorful comments screaming about how beautiful she looked and how perfect she was.

She turned around and began pretending to prep the lobster on the cutting board. Her knife skills were incredibly clumsy. Even her grip on the handle was wrong. Anyone with eyes could tell she was an absolute amateur who never cooked.

But she was very cunning. She knew exactly how to use camera angles to hide her guilt. Most of the time, she just let the camera zoom in on her innocent, makeup-perfected face. Whenever she needed to show precise knife work, the producer would instantly cut to a pre-recorded close-up video.

Halfway through the stream, she put down her knife and picked up tweezers to prepare for plating. She elegantly wiped her fingers with a paper towel while giving the camera her signature sweet smile.

"Actually, the ultimate secret to making top-tier food isn't having master-level skills. It is about whether you cook with love. As long as your heart is full of that special someone, every bite of food you make will have the power to conquer the world."

Standing outside the door of her apartment, I looked at her hypocritical face on my phone screen. A cruel smirk curled on my lips.

Now was the time.

I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell hard.

Inside the live stream, Lexi, who was just about to brush butter on the lobster, clearly got spooked. Her hand froze in mid-air.

But she quickly adjusted her expression, winking playfully at the camera. "Give me half a minute, babies. It might be my clumsy assistant who forgot her keys again, dropping something off for me."

To maintain the illusion of an unscripted, natural vibe, she did not mute her microphone or turn off the camera as she walked out of the frame.

Along with the sound of the deadbolt turning, the heavy door swung open.

When she saw a person dressed in a baggy delivery uniform, completely bundled up from head to toe, her delicate face instantly dropped. Her eyebrows twisted in pure disgust.

"I didn't order any takeout. You are on the wrong floor. Get lost!"

I completely ignored her demands. Lowering my voice on purpose, I used the exhausted, robotic tone of a delivery driver and asked loudly, "Good evening, are you Miss Lexi?"

"Yes, what exactly do you want..."

I did not give her a chance to finish her sentence. Capitalizing on her moment of confusion, I forced my shoulder forward and aggressively squeezed into the entryway. My half-body, clad in the shabby uniform, was fully exposed to the high-definition camera pointing right at the door.

I lifted the massive delivery box with both hands. My voice was not overly loud, but thanks to the highly sensitive microphone clipped to her collar, every single word exploded clearly across the entire live stream.

"Miss Lexi, this is your twenty-fourth premium Velvet Spoon meal this month. Please open the box to verify your items. If the quality is to your liking, the platform requires a five-star review."

The chat, which had been scrolling at lightning speed a second ago, suddenly froze as if someone hit the pause button. A bizarre, three-second dead silence followed.

Immediately after, the entire screen was devoured by a dense swarm of massive question marks that nearly crashed the servers.

"Wait, am I blind? What delivery?"

"Hold up! Did I hear that right? Isn't the streamer cooking this herself? Why is food being delivered right now?!"

"Velvet Spoon? Isn't that the most expensive private delivery kitchen in the city? The one that costs hundreds of dollars a meal?!"

Within a fraction of a second, all the color drained from Lexi's face. She looked paler than the white dress she was wearing.

Like a cat getting its tail stepped on, she spun around in sheer terror. Flailing her arms, she lunged forward, trying to cover my mouth and push me out the door.

But my legs were planted to the ground like lead weights. No matter how hard she shoved, I did not budge an inch.

Ignoring her hysterical panic, I continued in the same dead, emotionless tone, delivering the fatal blow.

"Also, our head chef found out that you have been using our restaurant's meals to shoot your fifteen viral videos, gaining two hundred thousand followers in the process. To thank you for your incredibly dedicated free promotion, the chef specifically instructed that VIP clients like you will get a ten percent discount on all future orders."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I cleanly flipped open the lid of the black thermal bag right in front of hundreds of thousands of watching eyes. I respectfully pulled out that walnut wood bento box she knew so well.

With a soft click, I popped open the brass latch.

Resting quietly inside the box was a French butter-baked lobster. It was exactly identical to the half-finished mess sitting on the kitchen island behind me, but infinitely more perfect.

The rich color of the sauce, the artistic plating, and the top-tier aroma radiating from the ingredients completely destroyed her pathetic, half-baked attempt.

"Miss Lexi, your food has arrived. Please enjoy."

The live chat detonated like a nuclear bomb.

"Holy shit! The biggest tea of the year! All her viral meals were bought with money!"

"Ordering takeout twenty-three times a month? Girl, you don't even turn on your stove once a year!"

"Lmao she is so busted! One second she is preaching about cooking with love, and the next second the delivery guy drops off the original dish! The second-hand embarrassment is killing me!"

Lexi let out a bloodcurdling scream. She scrambled toward the kitchen counter like a madwoman, trying to rip the power cord out of the broadcasting equipment.

But it was way too late.

The five-minute screen recording of the live stream spread like a winged plague across all social platforms at an unbelievable speed.

#LexiBitesFake

#DeliveryChef

#FakePersonaDestroyed

These three explosive hashtags acted like sharp knives, pinning themselves firmly to the top three spots on the trending charts.

The internet's rage and thirst for gossip were fully ignited. Netizens turned into microscopic detectives, comparing every single frame of my dramatic entrance with all of Lexi's past videos.

Eventually, the entire internet reached one united, ironclad conclusion: Not a single stunning dish on the LexiBites account was actually cooked by her.

Lexi's follower count suffered an avalanche. She lost two hundred thousand followers overnight, and the red downward curve was still plunging at a terrifying speed.

Terrified, she frantically disabled comments across all her platforms. But the fans who felt lied to and manipulated flooded her direct messages with vicious, vulgar insults.

A much more lethal blow followed closely behind. Out of the five brands that had just signed massive contracts with her, three reacted with ruthless speed. They teamed up with PR firms to issue severe termination statements. They mercilessly accused Lexi of malicious false advertising and fraudulent behavior, stating she severely violated their brand values and committed a fundamental breach of contract.

The statements clearly warned that if Lexi failed to clarify the truth and restore their brand reputation within twenty-four hours, they would not hesitate to take legal action. They would demand a full refund of the endorsement fees, plus a penalty three times that amount.

The total damages demanded by the three brands reached a number that would bankrupt her completely: 2.8 million dollars.

Meanwhile, the other mastermind behind this storm, my dear husband Henry, was currently standing in his boss's spacious corner office, getting chewed out like a stray dog with its tail between its legs.

How did I know the details so clearly?

Because half a month ago, while he was taking a shower, I had planted an ultra-micro listening device inside the Montblanc pen he always carried with him.

"Henry! Open your damn eyes and look at the massive mess you created! You were the one who pushed so hard to make Lexi our cash cow. Now she has caused this apocalyptic scandal, and the entire agency's reputation is being dragged through the mud! I am giving you until the end of the day to bury this, no matter the cost! If you can't, pack your bags and get the hell out!"

"Boss, please let me explain... I am already contacting the crisis PR team. I will handle it immediately!"

"Get out! I want a mitigation plan on my desk in five minutes!"

Following a loud slam, the phone call was brutally disconnected.

Through the bug, I heard Henry angrily kicking a trash can, followed by a vicious curse.

A few seconds later, he dialed Lexi's number.

"Lexi, is your brain full of water?! Who the hell was that delivery driver? Who did you piss off to make them want to destroy you like this?!"

Lexi's mental breakdown immediately echoed through the phone, accompanied by violent sobbing. "How am I supposed to know who that lunatic is! Henry, I am completely finished. The brands' lawyers already sent the letters to my email. 2.8 million dollars in damages! Even if you sold my organs, I couldn't pay that! You have to help me, I am begging you, please help me!"

"How am I supposed to help you? I can barely keep my own job right now!"

There was not a single trace of pity in Henry's voice, only the explosive irritability and disgust of a man backed into a corner.

"I warned you from the very beginning to actually learn some basic knife skills so you could fake it properly for the camera! But you insisted it would ruin your manicure! Now you got caught red-handed. Are you happy now?!"

"What is the point of saying all this in hindsight?! Henry, stop acting like the good guy! You were the one who personally suggested it! You said using the meals your ugly wife made for you would be free and foolproof! What, now that everything blew up, you want to throw me under the bus and make me take the fall?!"

Oh?

Sitting on the couch, I raised an eyebrow.

So the root of all this evil, this utterly shameless scheme, was actually proposed by my gentle, sophisticated husband.

I let out an incredibly delighted sneer. With a flick of my finger, I packed this brilliant audio recording, along with all the surveillance footage, bank statements, and photos I had gathered over the past month, into a hidden encrypted folder.

Henry, since you love playing with fire so much, your time is finally up.