The restaurant hums with quiet opulence, the kind that makes you hyperaware of every move you make. The soft clink of glasses and the low murmur of conversations blend with the scent of truffle oil and aged wood. Tonight is like any other shift—until he walks in.

You notice him immediately. It’s hard not to. He carries himself like someone who expects the world to bow to his whims. His suit is sharp, his watch gleaming under the soft amber lights, and his gaze is cold enough to freeze the wine list in your hand.

You try not to look, but you feel his presence long before he summons you with a slight lift of his hand.

When you approach, he doesn’t acknowledge you at first, his focus locked on the steak in front of him. It looks perfect, a masterpiece of marbling and searing, but the slight curl of his lip says otherwise.

“This,” he says, finally glancing up at you, his tone cutting through the air like a blade, “is unacceptable.”