THE MIDNIGHT CONTRACT

Chapter 1 Isadora's POV" Here… ma'am." I said smoothly.Three plates. Two starters. One side dish balanced on my forearm the entire way from the kitchen. I set the first plate down cleanly, reached for the second, and my wrist mistakingly caught the edge of a wine glass. The whole thing tipped, red wine spreading like a wound across the white tablecloth. Straight into the lap of the woman at the center seat.The shriek that followed could’ve shattered the windows. It sent an unexplainable flinch through me."My skirt!" She shoved back from the table so violently her chair scraped the floor. "You clumsy, brainless little—"“I’m so sorry, let me—” I grabbed the napkins from my apron pocket, leaned forward to help, and her hand lashed out.The slap cracked across my left cheek, sharp enough to slice through the noise of the restaurant. My head snapped to the side with the force of it, the napkins slipping from my fingers and scattering across the floor. For one stunned second, the world went silent except for the piercing ring in my ear and the violent thud of my own heartbeat. Then the noise rushed back in."Don't you dare touch my skirt with those filthy hands!" she shrieked, pointing at me like I was something she'd found on the bottom of her shoe. "Rubbish!"The sting spread across my face like fire as I slowly straightened. My cheek pulsed with pain, and my eyes watered on instinct, but I blinked the tears back before they could fall. Swallowing down the humiliation clawing up my throat, I bent to pick up the scattered napkins and forced my expression blank.“I sincerely apologize,” I said, my voice steady despite the burn still crawling across my face. I held onto that steadiness like it was the only thing keeping me upright. “Let me get something to—”“Oh, she apologizes.” The woman on the left leaned back in her chair, one elbow on the table, watching the scene unfold with the bright, entertained look of someone enjoying a performance. “Can an apology afford that skirt?”"Completely useless," the one on the right added, shaking her head at me like I was a disappointing piece of furniture. "Absolutely useless. Look at the state of that skirt, Margaux."Margaux, the one standing, whose hand still tingled presumably from where it had connected with my face was now dabbing at herself with a linen napkin from the table, making the situation considerably worse with every dab.“Here,” I said quietly, ignoring them, carefully stepping forward and holding out the dry napkins. “If you blot it instead of rubbing, it won’t—”The rest of my sentence never made it out. Her hand came down again, faster this time, sharper.The second slap snapped my head to the side with a brutal force that stole the air from my lungs. The sound echoed louder than the first, a flat, sickening c***k that seemed to land straight in my teeth and rattle through my skull.I straightened up slowly, forcing my body to obey me.The restaurant had fallen into a strange, heavy silence—the kind that happens when everyone quietly decides to stop pretending they aren’t watching. Cutlery had gone still. Conversations had died mid-sentence. Even the background noise seemed to fade into nothing.Somewhere behind me, a woman leaned in and whispered something to her companion.I stood with both hands at my sides and said absolutely nothing. Because if I opened my mouth right now it wouldn’t be to apologize."MANAGER!" Margaux had found her voice again, bigger and louder than before. "Where is the manager?! I want the manager at this table RIGHT NOW." She flung her arm out toward the room at large. "Does nobody work in this establishment? MANAGER!"The woman on the left laughed. An actual, delighted laugh, as though she were watching the most entertaining part of her evening unfold in front of her."Margaux, your face," she said, pressing a hand to her mouth."Absolutely scandalous," the one on the right said, looking me up and down slowly. "I don't know where they find these girls. I genuinely don't.""Basic competence, that's all we ask, right?," the woman on the left scoffed, reaching calmly for her own wine glass as the other nodded in agreement.Mr. Doyle came rushing in from the back the way he always did in crisis—quick, slightly out of breath, already shaping an apology before he even knew what had happened.He took one look at the table, one look at Margaux, one look at me."Isadora." His voice was a warning wrapped in a whisper. "Bar. Now.""She hit me," I said quietly."Bar.""Mr. Doyle, she physically—""I will deal with it." His eyes told me he would deal with nothing of the sort. "Go."My gaze darted to the three women, then to Mr. Doyle, before I obeyed anyway. I moved and stood behind the bar with my hand pressed briefly against my cheek, feeling the heat still sitting there. Around me the restaurant carried on—cutlery clinking, low conversations, a couple near the window laughing at something private. Nobody at this end had seen it. Or if they had, they'd already decided it wasn't their business.I watched Mr. Doyle bend almost in half apologizing to Margaux. Watched him signal to the sommelier for a replacement wine. Watched him pull out the complimentary card and gesture magnanimously at the menu.Then he walked back toward me."Yeah," he said, not quite meeting my eyes. "Here's what's going to happen now. You're going to go over there, apologize for the spillage, and we're going to get through the rest of this evening without any further—""She slapped me.""It was a reaction. She was startled."I stared at him. "Mr. Doyle. It was an assault.""Isadora." He lowered his voice further. "Mrs. Margaux has been coming here for seven years. SEVEN YEARS. She has a reservation every second Thursday and she brings clients who spend serious money at this restaurant. You have been here two months and you've already had two complaints filed.""Both of which were—”"I need you to go over there and apologize." He snaps me off.“I already apologised more tha—”“I don't care! Go!”❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️