The red wine soaked through my white apron, blooming like a dark bruise against the fabric.

Seraphina Romano sneered, her manicured fingers still resting on the stem of the tipped glass.

“You clumsy little girl,” she said, her voice carrying across the quiet dining room.

The Marigold Room had gone silent, the low murmur of wealthy Philadelphia patrons cutting out instantly.

Nico Romano sat opposite his wife, cutting his dry-aged ribeye without looking up.

“Clean it up, Harper,” Nico said, his voice flat and heavy.

I looked down at the puddle of Cabernet Sauvignon dripping onto the polished oak floorboards.

For three months, I had carried their trays, wiped their tables, and swallowed their insults.

My mother, Lila Wren, had died with her name dragged through the mud of this very restaurant.

“I won’t be cleaning that up, Mrs. Romano,” I said.

Seraphina’s laughter was sharp, like breaking glass.

“Excuse me?” she asked, leaning forward so the diamond necklace around her throat caught the chandelier light.

“You heard me,” I said, untying the knot of my stained apron.

I let the fabric drop to the floor, exposing my dark blouse underneath.

Elise, watching from near the kitchen doors, gasped and clutched her order pad to her chest.

Behind her, Mr. Alvarez paused in the dishwashing alcove, his soapy hands dripping onto the tile.

“Get the manager,” Seraphina hissed, her face turning a mottled red beneath her expensive foundation.

“The manager can’t help you tonight,” I said.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, tapping the screen once to stop the recording app.

It had been capturing every word of their conversation for the last two hours.

The heavy, brass-handled doors of the main entrance swung open.

Denise Vale walked in first, her leather briefcase in hand, her charcoal suit tailored and sharp.

Beside her, holding onto Denise’s arm, was Mrs. Evelyn Bellamy.

Evelyn was ninety-one, her posture curved but her blue eyes remarkably bright behind her wire-rimmed glasses.

Nico finally stopped cutting his steak, his fork clinking against the porcelain plate.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at Evelyn, then at Denise, and finally at me.