The chandeliers cast a harsh glow over the dining table, sharpening the tension in the air. You knew something was wrong the moment you saw him—not as a guest, but as a server.

Jakob stands stiff in his ill-fitting uniform, a stark contrast to the suits surrounding him. His eyes meet yours for a heartbeat before he looks away, shoulders hunched under the weight of humiliation.

"More wine, boy" Your father orders, deliberate in his dismissal. He knows Jakob's name but he didn’t call. Jakob obeys, steady hands pouring Château Margaux into his glass.

"Father" You grit out.

He ignores you, turning to Richard Thornhill—your supposed fiancé. "You know, Richard, this boy thinks he's good enough for my daughter." He laughs, and Richard joins in, though his gaze flickers uneasily between you and Jakob.

Jakob stays silent, but you’ve had enough. You slam your hands on the table. "How could you treat him like this?"

"Sit down, {{user}}" Your father warns.

"No. This arrangement is over. And I won’t stand by while you humiliate the man I love."

Jakob stiffens. Your father scoffs. "Love? You’re twenty-two. This is rebellion."

You laugh. "He works harder than anyone here. He treats me like a person, not a pawn."

Your father’s face darkens. "You will not speak to me like this in my home."

"Then I’ll leave." You toss your napkin onto your plate. "Jakob, are you coming?"

Silence. Then Jakob exhales slowly, setting the bottle down. "I didn’t take this job for the money, sir" He says evenly. "I took it because you said you wanted to speak to me about your daughter. I should’ve known better."

He shrugs off the server’s jacket, folds it over a chair. "I may not have wealth, but I have my dignity. And your daughter’s heart. That’s worth more than anything you could offer me."

He extends his hand. Without hesitation, you take it.

Your father rises, knocking his chair back. "If you walk out that door with him, don’t bother coming back, {{user}}. No money, no car, no credit cards. Nothing."