Vows Before Love

Chapter Two: Table Three

Aria’s POV

I grabbed the heavy silver serving tray, carefully balancing the crystal flutes and the sweating silver ice bucket against my shoulder. Before I could step away from the counter and head toward the VIP lounge, Jake leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischievous intent.

“Wait, before you go get that rent money,” he whispered, lowering his voice as if he were sharing a state secret. “I didn't even get to tell you the best part of my morning.”

I paused, a genuine laugh bubbling past my lips as the heavy weight of my family drama lifted just a fraction. Leave it to Jake to try and gossip in the middle of a rush. “What part? You mean the fact that you were drinking vodka before ten AM?”

“Yes, but it's who bought the vodka, love,” he countered, wagging his eyebrows dramatically.

My interest instantly spiked. “Okay, fine. Details. I need every single one. Who is this mystery man?”

“I don't know his name, but he walked into the lounge right before you got here to make some high-end VIP reservation,” Jake said, his voice dropping an octave as he wiped a glass with a linen cloth. “Dark hair. A suit that probably cost more than my entire apartment. He was checking his watch like he was waiting for the world to end, but when he ordered, he bought a round for the staff. He looked like expensive trouble. He smelled like money and… cedarwood, maybe? You know exactly the type. The kind of guy who doesn't just walk into a room—he owns it before he even speaks.”

Before I could press him for more details on the mysterious stranger, another waitress appeared beside us, her face etched with a look of mild annoyance. It was Claire.

“Aria,” she said, nudging my arm sharply and disrupting our conversation. “Table Three needs service. And they are not the patient type.”

I looked over toward the booth in the corner, and a sudden, sharp prickle of unease crawled up the back of my neck. Even from here, the vibe radiating from that table felt undeniably... off. It was a cold, jagged energy.

I carefully set the heavy champagne tray back down onto the bar counter, sliding it out of the way. "Can't someone else take them?" I asked Claire, frowning. "I'm supposed to deliver this champagne to the VIP area."

"I'm completely slammed," Claire muttered, already walking away to tend to another table. "Just get their order real quick."

Jake followed my gaze toward the corner booth, his expression tightening slightly. He gave me a gentle, encouraging push on the shoulder. “Come on, don’t overthink it. It’s just regular service. There are only three of them. Leave the champagne here for a second. Just hurry up and get their order so you can deliver that tray, and we can get back to talking about my mystery billionaire later.”

“We’ll see,” I replied, taking a steadying breath.

Grabbing my notepad and pen, and leaving the expensive silver tray safely on the counter next to Jake, I headed toward Table Three. Three men sat around the booth, all of them dressed in sharp, designer suits that looked wildly out of place in a lounge like this. They radiated the kind of entitled, wealthy aura that always seemed to make service staff nervous.

As I approached, the one in the middle looked me up and down with an expression that was less about looking at a person and more about inspecting a piece of furniture. I tightened my grip on my notepad, forcing myself to ignore the crawling sensation on my skin. I kept my professional mask firmly, painfully in place.

“Good evening, gentlemen. What can I get for you?” My voice sounded steady, even if my heart was hammering against my ribs.

The first man smiled smoothly, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Old Fashioned. Make sure the ice is clear.”

“The same for me,” the second added, not even looking up from his phone.

The third, the one who had stared at me, tapped the table impatiently with a diamond-encrusted ring. “Whiskey Sour. And make it quick.”

I scribbled the order down, my hand steady. “I’ll be right back.”

I turned to walk away, fully expecting to return to the safety of the bar. Then, it happened.

A hand firmly, disrespectfully, smacked my lower back.

For a split second, my brain completely froze in sheer, unadulterated shock. My feet stopped moving. The world seemed to go silent. Then, pure, hot instinct took over.

SLAP!

The sharp, sudden sound echoed through the lounge, cutting through the ambient music like a gunshot. The entire room went dead silent.