Chapter 25

Lucas strode into the hotel restaurant with his date clinging to his arm.

The instant their meals were served, his companion whipped out her phone, snapping pictures like a paparazzo. Lucas scowled. "What’s this? Never seen steak before?"

She flushed, hastily tucking her phone away before picking at her food in silence.

When they finished, the manager approached with a polished smile. "Mr. Grant, did everything meet your expectations?"

"Excellent. The filet was perfectly seared. I’m impressed."

Despite his messy personal life, Lucas was still a Vanderbilt heir—his manners impeccable, his demeanor effortlessly aristocratic.

"Seriously? This tastes like shoe leather." His date slammed her fork down, the clatter drawing stares.

Lucas’s expression darkened, his eyes flashing with irritation.

"We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience," the manager said smoothly, bowing. "Your feedback is invaluable."

"Don’t mind her. She left her dentures at home. Can’t even chew pudding, let alone steak."

Her face paled. She didn’t dare retort.

Lucas pulled out a thick stack of bills from his wallet and slid it across the table. In an era of digital payments, he still carried cash like it was a flex.

"Keep the change. By the way—do you have an employee named Seraphina?" He propped his chin on his hand, gaze wistful.

"Mr. Grant, our policy prohibits accepting tips. And I’ve managed this restaurant for fifteen years—there’s no Seraphina on staff."

"Impossible." Lucas stiffened. "I saw her unloading supplies at the back entrance. Check again."

"I assure you, there’s no need. I know every employee personally." The manager excused himself with another bow.

As Lucas frowned, a striking figure glided into the restaurant.

Isabella.

Alone.

Their eyes met—hers cool, his widening in recognition. Three years married to Nathaniel, and he’d never once taken her out publicly. Yet she knew Lucas was Nathaniel’s closest friend. Polar opposites, but their bond was unshakable.

Thankfully, no staff were around to call her "CEO."

Lucas’s gaze locked onto her like a homing beacon.

His date noticed, jealousy twisting her features. The way he looked at this woman—like she was sunlight after a decade of rain—made her blood boil.

Isabella ordered coffee and settled at a corner table, scrolling through her phone.

"Ms. Sinclair. Fancy seeing you here."

She glanced up, her expression frosty. "Just on break. I work here."

Lucas smirked. He knew that already—he’d asked purely to hear her voice. Her bluntness was refreshing. No pretenses. His admiration grew.

"Nathaniel’s an idiot. A woman like you should be treasured, not stuck waiting tables." He traced his jawline lazily.

"Treasured?"

She laughed, sharp as shattered glass. "He kept me caged for three years. That’s not love—it’s imprisonment. I’d rather scrub floors than go back to that."

Lucas blinked. Her smile held knives.

"President Kingsley gave me a chance when no one else would. He respects my choices. So don’t insult him."

Lucas’s grin faltered.

"Your girlfriend’s waiting." Isabella jerked her chin toward his fuming date. "Shouldn’t you get back to her?"

"Girlfriend?" He scoffed. "One dinner doesn’t make her mine. Does a kiss mean we’re engaged?" His eyes gleamed. "Have dinner with me tonight. Name the place—I’ll book it."

"I have a boyfriend."

"Don’t care." Lucas never played by rules. "If you’re shy, we’ll go to my villa. Private. Three-Michelin-star chef."

Isabella’s fingers drummed the table. Where was her damn coffee?

Then Lucas’s phone rang. Nathaniel’s name flashed onscreen.

"Excuse me." He stepped away.

Her coffee finally arrived. Before she could sip it, his date stormed over, nostrils flaring.

"Listen, employee," she sneered. "Stay away from Lucas if you want to keep your job."

Isabella waved a hand in front of her nose. The woman’s perfume could suffocate a horse.

"Or what?" She didn’t even look up.

"I’ll complain to your manager!"

"Go ahead. Tell President Kingsley. He’ll laugh in your face."

"You—!"

The woman lunged for the coffee cup, but Isabella was faster.

Splash.

Scalding liquid hit the woman’s face. Her mascara ran in black rivers, her designer dress ruined.

Isabella dabbed a stray drop from her wrist with a napkin, smirking.

"Between us? Only one person was leaving humiliated. And it was never going to be me."

In the hallway, Lucas answered the call.

"Nate. What’s up?"

"Your mother’s birthday is in two days. Help me pick a gift tonight—I’m clueless."

"Please. She adores you. A rock would make her happy."

"Tonight. No excuses."

"Can’t. I’ve got plans."

"Cancel them."

"I promised her dinner. Not my style to stand people up."

Lucas weighed his options. He wasn’t a saint—but he wasn’t a backstabber either. If he wanted something, he’d take it openly.

"Fine. Heads up—my date tonight is your ex-wife."

Silence.

"Nate? You there?"

Nathaniel’s voice came through, icy.

"You’re with Isabella now?"