The restaurant was called Velouris, a name whispered in certain circles with a kind of reverence that bordered on absurd. Marble floors polished to a mirror-like sheen, chandeliers that glittered like constellations overhead, and tables set with glassware so thin it felt like it might dissolve if you breathed too heavily near it—everything about the place was designed to remind you, in subtle but constant ways, that you didn’t belong unless you could pay for the illusion. Elise knew that better than anyone, because she lived in the space between those two worlds, serving one while barely holding onto the other.
She had just picked up a crystal glass, turning it carefully under the light to check for smudges, when she heard the sharp click of heels approaching—a sound that carried with it a very specific kind of dread. It was Marjorie Kent, the floor manager, a woman whose presence alone could make the entire staff straighten up instinctively, not out of respect, but out of survival. Marjorie had a way of speaking that didn’t raise her voice, yet somehow cut deeper than shouting ever could, as if humiliation was a skill she had refined over decades.
“Elise,” she said, her tone clipped, eyes scanning her from head to toe with thinly veiled disapproval. “What exactly are you wearing?”
Elise glanced down at her uniform, smoothing the apron out of habit. “It’s the standard uniform, ma’am.”
“It’s wrinkled,” Marjorie replied immediately, stepping closer. “And your collar—look at it. Do you think this is acceptable in a place like this?”
“It was clean at the start of my shift,” Elise said quietly. “I haven’t had time to change.”
Marjorie tilted her head slightly, lips tightening. “There are dozens of girls who would be grateful for your position. Girls who understand presentation. If you can’t maintain standards, perhaps you should reconsider whether you belong here.”
“I understand,” Elise murmured, lowering her gaze just enough to signal compliance, though inside, something steadier held firm. She had heard variations of this speech too many times to let it sink in the way it used to.
Because the truth was, she didn’t stay for the job.
She stayed for Jonah.
