2025-02-15 23:58:12
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Chapter 249: Exit in StyleDylan dropped to one knee beside Dolly, his hands resting gently on her tiny shoulders. His voice, low and warm, cut through the haze of whispers and judgment still hanging in the air like the last notes of a fading song.“You were perfect, baby,” he said, brushing a curl from her face. “Grown-ups just forget how to act sometimes.”Dolly blinked up at him, uncertain but comforted by the steadiness in his voice. Her lip wobbled. “Even the ones wearing the sparkly dresses?”He smiled softly. “Especially them.”Vivian let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, the knot in her chest easing just a little.They made their way toward the exit, Dylan holding Dolly close. The crowd parted like silk, the room quieter now, but not in the same brittle, choking way as before. This was a hush of acknowledgment.Outside, the night was cool and crisp, city lights flickering above them like silent stars. The valet approached, a young man barely out of college, too
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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
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Chapter 247: The Lemon-Faced ManagerFor a long, suspended beat, the manager just stood there, lips pressed so tightly together they’d all but disappeared. His throat bobbed once, twice, as he struggled to swallow his pride—or perhaps the acidic taste of public humiliation.“I… I apologize for the misunderstanding,” he said, the words strained and brittle, like dry leaves crushed underfoot. “Certainly not our intention to make any guest feel… less than welcome.”The apology hovered in the air, too weak to land, too flimsy to mean anything.Vivian’s jaw twitched. “That’s it?” she asked coldly. “That’s what you’ve got?”Before the manager could sputter out another sorry excuse for contrition, Dylan stepped forward again, his presence surprisingly calm.“Actually,” he said, voice even and deliberate, “I’d like the bill.”The words fell like a sudden drop in pressure, sucking the air out of the room.Vivian turned to him sharply. “What?” she hissed. “Dylan, what are you doing?”Even the m
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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
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The manager’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His silence was as dismissive as the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.Vivian stepped closer, the heels of her designer boots clicking sharply against the marble floor. “You’re not maintaining an atmosphere,” she said coldly. “You’re policing appearances. And poorly, at that.”The manager straightened his shoulders. “Miss Crestmoor, if you are dissatisfied with our service, I can arrange a private room—”“No,” Dylan cut in, voice low but firm. “That won’t be necessary.”Vivian turned to him, brows furrowed. “Dylan—”“I said it’s fine.” He gave her a small, weary smile before glancing down at Dolly. The little girl peeked up at him, her cheeks still damp, her small fingers clinging to his. “We’re leaving.”“Oh, no you’re not,” Vivian snapped, reaching out to stop him. “You’re not walking out like they did you a favor.”Dylan’s voice was even, but it held a quiet weight. “Vivian. This isn’t your fight to drag ou
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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
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