Laughter rippled across the nearby tables—snide, stifled, and cruel.A blonde woman with a diamond choker leaned toward her date, stage-whispering with a chuckle, “Did you see his shoes? My gardener wears better.”Her date snorted into his wine. “And he thought he could afford dinner here? Maybe he’s doing a social experiment—‘How the Other Half Starves.’”At the bar, a couple swiveled in their stools to get a better look. The man grinned wide, elbowing his companion. “Is that the Crestmoor girl’s new charity case? Poor bastard’s in the wrong movie.”“I thought this was black tie, not thrift store chic,” the woman giggled, deliberately loud enough to carry.Even the piano player hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys like he didn’t want to be part of the scene unfolding. A note hung awkwardly in the air before he resumed playing—quieter now.Dylan’s ears burned. He could feel their eyes on him, their judgment crawling over his skin like biting ants. Every laugh was a slap. Every sn

The manager arrived in a huff, a well-groomed man in a tailored navy suit, his graying temples doing nothing to dull the practiced smile on his face. But that smile vanished the moment he registered the tension in the room—the stares, the silence, the little girl sniffling against her father’s shoulder.“What seems to be the issue here?” he asked crisply.The waiter—still visibly sweating—immediately stepped forward, eager to offload the mess. “Sir, I was only following protocol. The gentleman,” he gestured subtly at Dylan like he was pointing at a broken chair, “didn’t appear to have the means to cover the bill. And since Miss Crestmoor is a VIP—”“I invited him,” Vivian snapped, stepping into the manager’s line of sight. “He’s with me.”The manager didn’t look at her right away. Instead, he turned—slowly, deliberately—to Dylan. His gaze swept from Dylan’s scuffed shoes, to his threadbare coat, to the worn leather of the wallet now resting on the white tablecloth. His nostrils flared

The manager’s lips thinned. “Miss Crestmoor, with all due respect, comping the entire meal is against our policy unless there has been a service failure of… significant proportions.”Vivian blinked slowly, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. Then she let out a short, incredulous laugh, one with absolutely no humor.“Significant proportions?” she repeated, her voice rising just enough to draw more attention from surrounding tables. “A five-year-old was crying, you insufferable wax statue. Because your waiter treated her like dirt. What exactly qualifies as ‘significant’ to you—public flogging?”The manager’s jaw flexed again, but this time his posture stiffened further, taking refuge in corporate formality like it was body armor. “We will, of course, take your feedback into account for future training, but if we begin comping meals every time a guest feels offended—”Dylan let out a sharp breath and stepped forward, his voice tight and clipped. “Okay, enough.”Vivian turned toward hi

Chapter 248: Whispers in VelvetThe restaurant had gone quiet.Not just the usual low hum of voices winding down for the night, but that brittle, stretched kind of silence where every fork paused mid-air, every conversation stalled mid-word. The kind of silence that presses in, heavy and expectant, as if the whole room were holding its breath.Vivian could feel it—a thousand eyes behind wine glasses and bread baskets, flickering like candlelight, watching every move Dylan made.She shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their stares, velvet and heavy, brushing against her bare shoulders like a slow, deliberate judgment. Admiration. Curiosity. Maybe even envy. She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know.Not now.Dylan, calm and measured, cradled Dolly in one arm as he rose from his seat. The dim light caught the sharp line of his jaw, clenched with the same quiet determination that made Vivian’s chest ache. He was leaving. That much was clear.She didn’t want it to end like this.Her

Chapter 250: Smoke in the MirrorThe Virelli Phantom glided down the boulevard like a shadow with purpose, the engine’s hum barely louder than a heartbeat. Inside, the silence simmered—not empty, but alert. Vivian’s fingers curled tighter around her phone as she re-read the message.That manager’s brother works for my campaign. He’ll be gone by morning. You still think you need to fight alone?A chill traced her spine, though her face remained composed. Political leverage, threats hidden in promises—it wasn’t unfamiliar territory. But this felt different. Personal.“Vivian,” Dylan’s voice broke through her thoughts. “That message… it wasn’t nothing.”She met his gaze, hesitant. “It was just… politics.”He arched a brow. “Politics usually doesn’t make you grip your phone like a grenade.”Vivian let out a slow breath. “Someone’s reminding me they’ve got reach. That manager inside? The one who tried to embarrass us? Apparently, his brother’s about to lose his job. As a ‘favor’ to me.”Dy