The restaurant glowed with soft amber light, the kind that smoothed every edge and made even silence feel expensive. Jazz curled low in the background, slow and deliberate, like the room did not need to rush. Every table was dotted with gleaming glassware, candles flickering against polished surfaces. Conversations hummed in low tones, discreet, measured—an orchestra of power hidden beneath tailored suits and diamond cuffs.
It wasn’t the kind of place Gigi Jasmine normally found herself in. She preferred the authenticity of art-filled cafés or the clean lines of gallery spaces where the work spoke louder than the people. Yet here she was, her emerald-green dress catching the warm glow as she slipped through the door.
Her stomach tightened as the maître d'’ smiled at her, as if he already
