Because everything I said was the truth.
If I hadn't wanted to spare my old classmates some embarrassment, I would have told them long ago that Pinecrest Pavilion was my property.
Seeing my silence, Alberta walked over with her wine glass and stopped in front of me.
"Do you know why I dumped you back then?" She tilted her head, lips curling. "A man with no power shouldn't pretend to be something he's not."
She thrust the glass toward me. "Drink this, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened."
I rose slowly, meeting her gaze head-on.
"Alberta." My voice was quiet. "I showed you a little courtesy, and you actually think I'm still that lovesick nobody who would've done anything for you four years ago?"
Without breaking eye contact, I called toward the door:
"Waiter—bring me the menu."
I let the words land.
"Tonight, the entire bill is on me."
The room went still.
A man in a tailored suit stepped through the doorway and stopped before me, hands clasped, posture deferential. It was Chester Bell, the floor manager of Pinecrest Pavilion. I'd met him once before, when I'd arranged this private room.
I kept my eyes on Alberta, but my words were for him.
"Your hidden menu. I want one of everything."
"And two bottles of Hennessy. The best you have."
Chester said nothing. He simply nodded and withdrew.
The silence stretched. Everyone had frozen mid-motion—even Alberta, her eyes wide as saucers.
Then she doubled over laughing.
"Oh my God." She wiped at her eyes. "You really can't help yourself, can you? A hidden menu? My husband and I have been here at least ten times—there's no such thing." She straightened, smirking. "If you're going to lie, at least make it believable."
The others exchanged glances, then turned to stare at me.
I could see it in their faces. They were waiting for me to crash and burn.
To them, I was still the same broke fool Alberta had thrown away like garbage.
Back then, I'd fought with my father over her—cut myself off from my family, ended up penniless, delivering takeout just to survive. I'd worked myself to the bone to pay off the $100,000 in online loans she'd racked up.
And the moment I did? She climbed into Francis Pruitt's bed.
I'd gone home after that. Took over the family business. Swore I'd never see Alberta Fox again.
Yet here I was at a class reunion, face to face with the gold-digging traitor who'd gutted me—while she publicly humiliated me, dragging up the debt I'd paid for her, grinding my dignity into the floor in front of everyone.
This I would not swallow.
"Just because you've never seen it," I said coolly, "doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It just means you weren't important enough."
I let a beat pass.
"I'd save my breath if I were you. When the food arrives, you're going to wish you had."
"Mike Finch, you—!"
Before she could finish, the doors swung open again.
Dish after dish flowed into the room—dozens of them, each one exquisite, each one drawing gasps as they were arranged across the table.
Chester followed, cradling two bottles of limited-edition Hennessy. He addressed the room with a slight bow.
"The owner wishes me to convey that everyone here tonight is an honored guest."
He paused.
"Your bill has been waived. Compliments of the house."
I gave a small, satisfied nod. The owner of Pinecrest Pavilion certainly knew how to play the game. A single meal to curry favor with the son of Harbor City's wealthiest man? A bargain, really.
"Please thank your boss for his generosity. Tell him—"
Alberta's hand shot up, cutting me off.
"Excuse me?" She shouldered past me. "Who asked you to speak?"
She positioned herself in front of Chester, chin lifted.
"The owner obviously did this for my husband's sake. Francis Pruitt? You've heard of him." She tossed her hair. "So stop acting like you matter here."
She snatched a glass from the table and raised it toward Chester.
"I'll thank Mr. Cross on my husband's behalf. This one's for him."
She drained the glass in one go.
"Once Francis finishes up his business this week, we'll personally pay Mr. Cross a visit to express our gratitude."
As Alberta set down the empty glass, a strange expression crept across Chester Bell's face.
Confusion. Then something close to pity.
