Dinner became a polite interrogation about her “unstable career” and the risk of her becoming “a burden.” She answered briefly and let each comment pass, already knowing they were heading next to The Silver Terrace, a restaurant his parents treated as unreachable—where she was a regular.
The drive there was quiet. Inside, the maître d’ looked up and his face lit. “Ms. Lane. Your usual private table?” Elaine stiffened; Robert’s hand froze; Lucas stared. At the table, the maître d’ brought out an expensive bottle. “Your preferred vintage, compliments of the house.”
“Preferred?” Lucas whispered.
“Client dinners,” Sophia said. “My firm’s partners. We do negotiations here. Multi-million-dollar ones.”
Silence fell.
Lucas finally asked, “How much do you really make?”
“About ninety thousand a month,” she said. “Tonight is on me.”
Robert leaned back, stunned. Elaine’s expression crumpled. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I needed to know how I’d be treated if you thought I had nothing,” Sophia replied.
