The room fell into a stunned silence.
Wine glasses paused halfway to mouths. Chopsticks hovered above plates. Even the soft background music seemed too loud.
Ava's face went paper white. “That's not true," she blurted. “I don't even know how to do those things. Post from a hidden account? Trace IPs? You're making it sound like I'm some… some hacker."
“I never said you posted them yourself," Olivia replied calmly. “I said the account was traced to your building. Your floor. The same wireless network you use."
“That doesn't prove anything," Ava said quickly. “Lots of people live there. Anyone could have—"
“I also requested the restaurant's security footage from that day," Olivia cut in. “The day Vincent and I first had lunch together. They still had the recordings."
She slid her phone
