Marcus Sylvester's fingers were numb. Not from the February cold that bit through his jacket, but from gripping the handlebars of his delivery bike for eleven straight hours. The discount roses he'd bought with $4.99 at the gas station were wilting in his backpack, their plastic wrapper crinkling with each pedal stroke.He shouldn't have come. Every instinct in him screamed at him to turn around, to go home and collapse on the mattress he shared with the roaches in their studio apartment. But it was their anniversary. Three years. That had to mean something.Luminaire Restaurant glowed like a beacon of everything Marcus would never be. Valet attendants in crisp uniforms opened doors for guests who probably spent more on dinner than his family made in a month. He had looked up the menu online: $85 steaks. $200 wine bottles. The kind of place where you needed a reservation three months in advance.The kind of place Vanessa Chen deserved.Marcus locked his bike, a rusted piece of junk he