The evening sun cast long shadows across the deck as I received my new assignment. Ashley's lips curled into what might have been a smile on anyone else, but on her, it looked like a predator sizing up prey.
"The formal dining room needs extra staff tonight," she said, thrusting a fresh uniform at me. "Section three. The Platinum Card holders will be there."
My stomach tightened. "Section three?"
"Yes, Carter. The private section." Her eyes gleamed with something like satisfaction. "Don't mess this up."
The formal dining room glittered with crystal chandeliers and polished silverware. Section three was cordoned off with velvet ropes—a private enclave within the already-exclusive restaurant. I smoothed my newly pressed uniform, trying to ignore the ache in my muscles from the day's labor.
"Valerie Carter," the maître d' said, not bothering to look up from his tablet. "You'll assist with table seven. Whatever the guests need, you provide. Immediately."
I nodded, taking position near the empty table. The other servers moved with practiced grace, their faces carefully blank. I'd never seen such deference from staff who normally had at least some pride in their work.
The doors swung open, and Neo strode in like he owned the place. Two men flanked him—one with a scar across his jaw, the other with eyes that never stopped scanning the room. The maître d' practically bowed.
"Monsieur Lynch," he murmured, pulling out the chair himself. "Your usual table."
Neo didn't even acknowledge him, just dropped into the seat and snapped his fingers at me. "Wine. The good stuff."
I moved to the wine station, carefully selecting the vintage Neo had pointed to—a Bordeaux that cost more than most people's monthly rent. My hands trembled slightly as I presented the bottle.
"This one, sir?"
Neo squinted at the label. "Yeah, whatever." He leaned back, his eyes traveling over me in a way that made my skin crawl. "So, Brayden tells me you girls will do anything for a tip."
I poured the wine, focusing on keeping my hands steady. "I'm just here to serve the meal, sir."
"Oh, I bet you are." His grin widened.
The dinner progressed in a blur of serving plates and refilling glasses. I kept my distance from Neo's table whenever possible, but fate had other plans.
As I reached to remove an empty appetizer plate, Neo shifted suddenly. His arm knocked against mine, sending the glass of Bordeaux toppling. Red wine cascaded across the pristine white tablecloth and onto the marble floor.
The restaurant fell silent.
"Look what you did," Neo said, his voice carrying across the hushed room. He stood slowly, towering over me. "You made a mess."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll get something to clean—"
"Not with that." He pointed to the cloth I'd grabbed. "On your hands and knees. Where girls like you belong."
Heat rushed to my face. "Sir, I can—"
"Is there a problem here?" The assistant manager materialized beside us, his face pale with anxiety.
"Your girl spilled wine all over my shoes." Neo gestured to his pristine loafers. "I told her to clean it properly."
The manager's eyes darted between us. "Of course, Mr. Lynch. Valerie, please, clean it immediately."
"Sir?"
"On your hands and knees," he repeated firmly. "The Platinum Card holders can't be kept waiting."
I felt dozens of eyes on me as I knelt on the hard marble. The wine soaked through my uniform pants as I dabbed at the floor.
"That's it," Neo said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Good girl. Maybe there's hope for you yet."
His companions laughed, and someone else joined in—a woman's voice from behind me.
I didn't know how much more I could take.
---
My cabin was barely larger than a closet, but it was private. I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, eyes closed, trying to steady my breathing.
Slowly, I reached beneath my thin mattress and pulled out the tablet I'd smuggled aboard. The screen glowed softly in the dim light.
"Fingerprint authentication," I whispered, pressing my thumb to the screen.
The Carpenter Maritime logo appeared, followed by a series of security prompts. Within minutes, I was accessing our encrypted servers.
"Neo Lynch," I typed, my fingers flying across the screen.
His face appeared—mug shots from three different arrests. Assault. Theft. Attempted murder.
"Multiple assault charges," I read aloud. "Suspected involvement in organized crime."
I scrolled further, my breath catching as I saw the recent surveillance photos. Neo entering Riley Corporation headquarters. Meeting in Brayden's office. Leaving with files tucked under his arm.
My hands shook as I cross-referenced with the visitor logs.
Six meetings in the past six months.
All approved by Brayden personally.
"No," I whispered, but the evidence was right in front of me.
It wasn't just infidelity. It wasn't just humiliation.
Brayden was involved in something far worse than I'd imagined.
The tablet screen reflected in my eyes—a list of dates, times, and stolen corporate secrets.
And my husband was at the center of it all.
