Chapter 33
The restaurant was all polished marble and quiet wealth, its chandeliers casting golden light that softened every corner. Waiters in crisp uniforms moved silently between tables, pouring wine, laying plates with the kind of elegance that made every gesture part of the performance. Lyra had chosen the place with care. It was neutral ground, yet public enough to matter. A dinner here, with Bruce at the head of the table, would whisper reassurance into the ears of anyone watching: the Ford family was steady, united, untouchable.
At least, that was what she intended.
She arrived early with the children, guiding them through the wide double doors with the poise of a woman accustomed to being seen. Their small hands clung to hers, their eyes wide at the gleam of chandeliers and the
