Mia lowered herself slowly to the floor.
Inside Le Ciel, time seemed to freeze. The clinking of silverware faded into an uneasy hush. The lights that once reflected warmly off gold accents and crystal suddenly felt cold—like silent witnesses to something everyone pretended not to see.
The Wagyu steak lay on the floor. The plate was shattered. The red sauce had spread outward, staining the marble like a wound.
Investors in tailored suits. Women adorned with diamonds. Chefs watching from behind the mirrored wall. Fellow waitresses frozen with fear at the edges of the room.
Mia knelt.
Mr. Gozon smiled.
“Well?” he muttered sharply. “Hurry up. Don’t waste my guests’ time.”
Mia inhaled deeply. Her hands touched the floor, trembling. Tears traced down her cheeks—but something inside her shifted, as if a long-closed door had begun to open.
She did not reach for the meat.
Instead, she rose.
