Ethan Cole had always been a man of ambition. Fresh out of business school, he clawed his way up the corporate ladder, making calculated moves, shaking the right hands, and cutting the right deals. By 42, he was the CEO of Dynamax Industries, a multimillion-dollar tech company. He had the mansion, the sports cars, the perfect family. He was a man at the top of his game.
And then, one day, someone left a pack of Oreos in the break room.
At first, it was innocent. A treat here and there. A reward after a tough meeting. But something about the combination—the crispness of the cookie, the smooth, sweet cream—lodged itself deep in his mind. Soon, he wasn't just eating Oreos. He was craving them.
He started keeping a pack in his office drawer. Then a stash in his car. Then entire cases delivered discreetly to his home. The real tipping point came when he discovered what he called doing a line—eating an entire row straight from the tray in one sitting. The rush was intoxicating. The sheer indulgence, the loss of control—it was better than any corporate victory.
At first, his wife, Claire, laughed it off. "At least it's not whiskey or cocaine," she'd say. But as weeks turned to months, his obsession deepened. His once-razor-sharp focus dulled. Meetings ran late because he was sneaking away for a quick line. His tailored suits started to strain at the seams. His fingers were constantly smudged with dark crumbs.
The board took notice. Investors grew uneasy. Claire stopped laughing.
One evening, she found him in the kitchen at 2 a.m., hunched over the counter, surrounded by empty blue packages. The kids’ lunch Oreos, gone. The emergency stash, obliterated.
"Ethan, this has to stop," she pleaded.
He wiped his mouth, his eyes wild. "You don’t get it, Claire. This… this is the only thing that still makes sense to me."
She packed up the kids and left the next morning.
From there, the downward spiral accelerated. He missed meetings. Forgot deadlines. Showed up to a shareholders' event with Oreo dust on his tie. The board had no choice but to remove him.
His severance barely lasted six months. By the end of the year, he had lost everything—his job, his family, his home. But still, he chased the high.
He wandered the streets, trading pocket change for his fix. At first, it was regular store-bought packs, but soon, he turned to back-alley dealers who peddled special Oreos—double-stuffed with mysterious, off-market fillings. Some said they came from overseas factories, unregulated and dangerous. Ethan didn't care.
One night, in the pouring rain, he crouched in a filthy alleyway, a tattered trench coat wrapped around his shivering body. His fingers trembled as he opened a sketchy pack of Golden Oreos. Something was off—the color, the smell—but he ignored the warning bells in his mind.
With a desperate hunger, he stuffed the cookies into his mouth, barely chewing. The taste was wrong. Chemical. Bitter. His throat tightened. His vision blurred. His body convulsed, collapsing against the cold, wet pavement.
As the rain washed over him, the city lights dimming in his fading vision, a single thought echoed in his mind.
Just one more line.
And then, darkness.
