The dining room of *Vance & Sterling* was a symphony of manufactured perfection.

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the fifty hand-carved mahogany tables. The air smelled faintly of beeswax, expensive perfume, and the promise of culinary greatness. In the center of the room, standin

Julian stood in the locker room for what felt like an eternity, the neon-pink highlighted text burning itself into his retinas from where the document lay on the floor.

He couldn't serve her food. Legally, it was suicide.

But practically? If he didn't serve food tonight, his career was over anyw

The ticket printer in the flagship kitchen of *Vance* did not stop. It bled white paper in a continuous, mocking stream, piling up on the stainless steel counter like a snowdrift of impending doom.

"Fire table four! Where is the wagyu?" Julian Vance screamed, his voice cracking violently over the