She didn’t wait.
She simply walked in… like she owned it.
That certainty had already cost me twelve thousand dollars three nights ago.
And by the end of tonight, it was going to cost her much more.
The moment I stepped into the restaurant, I knew something was wrong. Everything looked beautiful—the warm golden lighting, the quiet rhythm of the kitchen, the soft hum of conversation—but layered over it was something artificial. Something staged.
The host stand was covered in designer gift bags.
A balloon arch framed the private dining room.
Imported peonies—out of season—lined the hallway.
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