DON'T FALL FOR THE FAKE BRIDE

The ticket printer screamed to life, and Marielle Chen flinched. One week. Seven days since she had walked out of the apartment she'd shared with Daniel, a suitcase in one hand and her dignity in the other, after finding him in their bed with Priya, her best friend of twelve years. Seven days of sleeping on Jade's strong couch, and seven days of learning that carrying four plates on one arm was harder than it looked. She had never had a job before. Daniel wouldn't let her. Now she stood in the glittering dining room of Aurelle, the kind of Manhattan restaurant where actors ate salads worth over eighty dollars. Jade had begged the manager to give her a trial, and Marielle was grateful. She was also exhausted, and her feet hurt. She straightened a fork that was already straight and stared at the candle on table nine. Never again, she thought. I will never fall in love again. Love is just a very expensive way to be stupid. "Chen!" She jumped. Mr. Delgado, the floor manager, stood with his arms folded and his mustache twitching. "Are you with us, or are you off in a daydream?" "I'm here, sir. Sorry." "Table twelve. Window. Smile, if it isn't too much trouble." He swept away. Marielle pulled a smile onto her face, grabbed her notepad, and crossed the room. Table twelve sat in the best corner, with a view of the city lights. Two men sat there, and the air around them felt tight enough to snap. She recognized the younger one before she even reached them. Everyone in New York would have. Dark hair, sharp jaw, a watch that cost more than her family's house. Liam Blackwood. The billionaire's son. Tabloid regular. The playboy photographed with a different woman every other week. Wonderful, she thought. Another man who thinks the world is his playground. Across from him sat an older man with silver hair and a face carved from disapproval. Richard Blackwood, whose name was on half the skyscrapers in the city. "—twenty-six years old," Richard was saying in a low, cutting voice, "and you still behave like a boy. Another scandal in the papers. Another board member calling me." Liam said nothing. He turned his water glass slowly on the tablecloth, jaw tight. Marielle cleared her throat. "Good evening. Welcome to Aurelle. Can I start you with something to—" "Can't you see we're talking?" Richard didn't even look at her. He flicked his fingers. "Come back later." Heat crept up her neck. She stepped back and waited a polite distance away, hands clasped, while Richard went on and on. Liam still said nothing. He just sat there and took it, like a man who had heard it a thousand times before. Finally, Richard waved her over. "Steak, medium. And he'll have the salmon. Hurry up." "Of course, sir." She tried not to listen. But when the food was ready and she carried the tray back to table twelve, Richard's voice carried across the room. "I am not handing this company to a man who doesn't carry my blood. Your brother is not mine, and he never will be. You are my only son, Liam. The company is yours, and it is time you started acting like a man who deserves it." Marielle's hands tightened on the tray. She set down the order.Liam's eyes were fixed on his plate, but a muscle jumped in his cheek, and something in her chest twisted. She knew that look. It was the look of someone who had swallowed a hurt so many times that it no longer tasted like anything. "—a waste of everything I've built, a spoiled—" "Excuse-me”Marielle Said. Richard stopped. Slowly, he turned his head. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir." Her voice shook slightly, but she kept going. "But you can't talk to him like that. Not in public. Not at all, really. Nobody deserves to be spoken to that way." The silence that followed was so complete she could hear silverware clink two tables over. Richard's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon? Who exactly are you to tell me what to do?" "Nobody," she admitted. "I'm just the waitress. But I'm still not going to stand here and listen to it." Across the table, Liam finally looked up. His eyes were gray,and they were fixed on her with an expression she couldn't read. Then, so faintly she almost missed it, one corner of his mouth lifted. It was barely a smirk, and he said nothing at all. But he looked at her as though she were the first interesting thing that had happened to him in years. "Do you know who I am?" Richard said, dangerously soft. "No, sir. And honestly, it doesn't change what I said." Marielle took a breath. "Enjoy your meal." She turned and walked away on legs that felt like water. Behind her, Richard's voice rose, sharp with fury: "Where is your manager? I want that girl fired." Her stomach dropped. Within two minutes, Mr. Delgado had her cornered by the kitchen door, his face purple. "What did you do? That is Richard Blackwood! He could buy this restaurant and shut it down before breakfast!" "I know. I'm sorry. I just—" "You just what?" "I couldn't listen to it." Her voice cracked. "Please, Mr. Delgado. I need this job. I have nowhere else to go. I swear I'll never interfere in anyone's conversation again. I'll be invisible. Please." He stared at her for a long moment. Her eyes stung, but she refused to let the tears fall. At last he exhaled through his nose. "One more incident, Chen. One. And you're gone." "Yes.Thank you, sir." When she dared to look back at table twelve, it was empty. Two untouched plates sat there. Richard had stormed out, and Liam Blackwood was gone, too. She spotted him only once more, through the front windows. He stood on the sidewalk beside a black car, his coat collar turned up against the cold. For a second, he glanced back at the restaurant, directly at her, as though he knew exactly where she stood. Then he slid into the car and vanished into the city night. Marielle let out a shaky breath, wiped her palms on her apron, and went back to work. Never again, she reminded herself.