You In The End

CHAPTER TWO

When Sam walked back into the restaurant, it felt like someone had opened a floodgate while she was gone.

The place had transformed in just five minutes.

It was as if an invisible door had been flung wide open, unleashing a tidal wave of bodies, noise, and energy. When she’d stepped out for her break, the dining room was busy but manageable, humming with low conversation and clinking cutlery.

Now? It was chaos.

Every table was full. The buzz of chatter had become a roar. Waiters moved like they were on a battlefield, dodging trays, scribbling orders, barely making eye contact. Glasses clinked. Forks scraped. Someone laughed far too loudly in the corner.

Sam blinked, stunned for a second. It was like the entire upper class of the city had decided to descend on this place in the five minutes she was gone.

She caught a glimpse of Jason in the corner, elbow-deep in spilled food, looking like he was seconds from screaming. One of the new hires dropped a spoon and jumped like it was a gunshot. Even the manager had come out from the back, pacing between tables with the forced calm of someone pretending everything wasn’t on fire.

Sam exhaled slowly and squared her shoulders. She grabbed a notepad and pen from the hostess stand, tucking them into her apron with ease of habit, and began making her way toward table twelve.

She spotted them instantly, still seated near the corner window, still loud, still exuding that brand of obnoxious faux-wealth that made her skin crawl. But as she got closer, she noticed something different.

They weren’t four anymore.

They were five.

A new man had joined them, seated casually at the head of the table like he’d always belonged there. He was younger, around her age, maybe a few years older at most, but he stood out from the rest like a wolf among coyotes.

He wasn’t dressed in a suit. No stiff collars, no pretentious cuff links . Just a simple, perfectly-fitted black tee, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the ink coiling along his right arm, and jet-black jeans that somehow looked more expensive than most formal wear. A small, tasteful diamond stud glinted in his left earlobe under the dim lights, catching her eye for a second longer than she meant to let it.

He didn’t look like the others.

He didn’t need to try.

There was something effortless about the way he leaned back in his chair, calm and composed, while the others laughed too loudly and gestured too broadly. His watch was subtle but unmistakably high-end. His posture was relaxed, confident, but not arrogant.

And Sam didn’t need to be told, this guy was money. Real money.

Old money, maybe. Or worse, money so new it didn’t have to prove itself anymore.

He looked simple, sure. But she could tell his whole outfit probably cost more than everything the rest of them were wearing put together. He didn’t need designer logos splashed across his chest. Everything about him said, I don’t follow trends—I fund them.

Plastering on a fake smile, she stepped up to table twelve, not letting her eyes linger too long on the new guy—though she definitely felt him watching her.

“Hello again,” she said smoothly, addressing the table but letting her gaze sweep briefly over each of them. “I believe you’d like to make another order?”

The younger man looked up at her then—really looked, with those kinds of eyes that made you feel like he could see more than you were letting on. His smile was soft, polite, a little reserved.

“I’ll have a glass of water, please.”

Sam blinked.

Water?

Before she could reply, one of the older men—a wide-shouldered guy with slicked-back hair and a tie that screamed overcompensating—burst out laughing.

“A glass of water?” he echoed, incredulous. “You can’t be serious, kid.” He nudged the man beside him, still chuckling. “We’re about to sign the biggest deal of the year, and you’re drinking water?”

He turned to Sam, smirking with that self-important gleam she’d seen a hundred times before.

“We’ll have your most expensive bottle of wine. Something vintage. Something that says power.”

Sam didn’t move right away. Her eyes flicked back to the younger man—not asking, just silently checking in. She’d learned to read the signals. And despite his relaxed exterior, he seemed… hesitant. Not embarrassed, but maybe uncomfortable. Caught between worlds.

After a brief pause, he gave her a quick, almost imperceptible nod. Go ahead.

“Alright,” she said with a light dip of her chin. “One bottle of our finest vintage wine.”

She scribbled it down, her tone professional but just sharp enough to make a point. “And a glass of water. Anything else?”

The others murmured their no’s, already turning their attention back to whatever deal they were discussing, confident and self-satisfied.

“Very well,” she said, stepping back. “Your bottle of wine will be right up.”

She walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor, the fake smile she’d worn already slipping from her face. Biggest deal of the year, my ass. They were going to rip him off — she could see it plain as day. He was just some unlucky rich kid in a room full of sharks dressed in overpriced suits.

Sam had seen this scene play out too many times. Deals like this happen here almost every night. Different faces, same script — empty promises, flashy wine, and one poor soul with no idea what they were walking into.

But it wasn’t her business.

She’d do her job, serve their overpriced bottle, and move on. Keep her head down, smile where necessary, and get through her shift in one piece.

But first — she needed to use the restroom.

She looked around to make sure no one was watching before slipping through the door of the guest restroom. It was a quiet rule she broke almost every night.

The staff restroom was barely more than a mop closet with a flickering light and a leaky sink. This, on the other hand, was luxury — soft lighting, gleaming counters, and lavender-scented soap that didn’t smell like chemicals. No one ever questioned her if she moved fast and kept quiet.

She locked the stall behind her with a soft click and let out a long sigh, the first real breath she’d taken since stepping onto the floor that evening.

Just a minute, she thought, then back to pretending.

Sam sat frozen in the silence of the toilet booth, her knees drawn together, hands clenched tightly in her lap when she heard the restroom door creak open, followed by the soft click of expensive shoes on the tiled floor.

“s**t,” she muttered under her breath, her heart skipping. If it was a manager or one of those high-and-mighty guests, she'd be in trouble. Serious trouble. She couldn’t afford a write-up, not now.

But just as she braced herself, the person spoke, low, muffled, and clearly on the phone.

“I told you honey, we’ve got him here. The kid’s clueless. This deal is as good as done.”

“Yeah. Once he signs, it’s done. He doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to. And that’s a lot of money.”

Sam frowned, her mind racing. She didn’t care much about corporate scams or whatever shady business these people were into — it wasn’t her world, and it never would be. But still, a part of her burned with curiosity. Maybe it was boredom, or maybe it was that little voice in her head that always wanted to know more than she should.

At the very least, it’d make for an interesting story to tell her grandmother when she got home — something dramatic to break the dull routine of her day-to-day life.

Slowly, carefully, Sam shifted her weight and got down on her knees, making as little noise as possible. She leaned forward and peeked through the narrow space under the door.

From her angle, she couldn’t see a face — just a tailored suit and a pair of dark red heels that looked expensive enough to pay her rent twice over. Her eyes narrowed. It was the woman from table 12.

Of course.

Just as she’d guessed, they weren’t celebrating a deal — they were baiting a trap, and that clueless young man was walking right into it. Sam watched as the woman adjusted her blazer in the mirror, exuding calm and control, then strutted out like she hadn’t just said something worth a federal investigation.

Sam stayed crouched, her heart thudding quietly.

Sam waited a few more seconds, listening closely to make sure the woman’s heels had fully faded down the hall before pushing the stall door open. Her breath hitched as she stepped out into the empty restroom, her eyes darting to the mirror, half expecting to see someone else lurking behind her.

Nothing.

She exhaled and wiped her palms on her apron. Then, without wasting another second, she slipped out the door and back into the hallway.

The woman from table 12 was already gone, blending into the sea of high-end customers and polished staff moving through the glitzy restaurant. Sam’s eyes scanned the dining area, her nerves still tight. Her steps quickened.

She didn’t know what she was going to do yet, but something in her gut told her this wasn’t just another shady deal.

She didn’t care about their business, really—but something about the young man at that table, the way he looked out of place, nervous, even polite… it gnawed at her.

He didn’t belong with people like that.

And someone needed to tell him the truth before it was too late.