Late April bloomed over Greenwich, the trees along the Avenue lush with green, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze as I stood outside Justin’s penthouse, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. It was a week since the E! News clip had cleared Xiamond’s name, since I’d agreed to dinner at his place after that tense night at The Gilded Spoon. I’d spent days agonizing over my outfit, rifling through my closet for something that didn’t scream “waitress on a budget.” I’d settled on a simple navy dress, its hem skimming my knees, paired with heels borrowed from my friend Sarah—black, slightly scuffed, but elegant enough to pass. My jet-black hair hung loose, brushing my shoulders, a rare departure from the messy buns I wore to work. I’d even swiped on some lip gloss, the mirror
