The evening at The Sovereign should have been simple—a birthday dinner, a celebration, a quiet moment for family. The restaurant shimmered under warm golden light, the kind that made everything feel more important than it was. Jamal sat at the head of the long table, smiling too brightly, surrounded by people who admired the appearance of success more than the weight of responsibility that came with it. Tia, dressed in a sparkling red gown, soaked in every glance as though the room existed for her.
Dinner unfolded with unnecessary extravagance. Towering plates, rare wines, dishes so carefully arranged they looked more like displays than food. But underneath the sparkle, something in the air felt off, as if a curtain was about to drop.
When dessert plates were cleared, a familiar waiter walked toward me with the check. He had always brought it to me without question. Before he reached my hand, Tia rose sharply, snatching the bill folder as if claiming a crown.
“I’ll take that,” she said, tapping her spoon on her glass to call for attention. Voices around the table went still.
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