Once inside the restaurant, Logan guided Mirena straight toward the VIP section tucked slightly away from the main floor.
The atmosphere there was calmer, more refined—plush seating, polished wood, and an air of quiet authority that came from people who were used to letting their cards and money do the talking rather than their actual voices.
A woman sat at one of the VIP table, dressed in an elegant cream dress that hugged her figure tastefully, her posture relaxed yet poised. She spoke calmly in a hushed tone with the waiter beside her, her expression serene, every movement deliberate.
There was something timeless about her—an aura of composure and confidence that didn’t need to announce itself.
“Mom,” Logan called we they got closer to the table.
The woman paused and lo
