Chapter 2 - THE WAITRESS WHO NOTICED TOO MUCH
“Sophie.”
Christian’s voice cut through the standoff. He did not raise it, but every weapon in the room seemed to steady at the sound.
Sophie stood beside the service station, one hand pressed against her apron. “Yes, sir?”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
Vivian gave a short, brittle laugh. “She dropped a fork. This is absurd. Christian, darling, you’re letting a clumsy waitress turn an accident into a conspiracy.”
Christian finally looked at her. “I didn’t ask you.”
Vivian’s mouth closed.
Sophie swallowed. Her job had taught her how to disappear in a room full of powerful people. Speaking now felt like stepping into the path of a moving train. “She hit my tray. I tried to catch the silverware. The fork fell. I didn’t aim it at her.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Christian said. “Before tonight. What did you notice?”
He had heard something in her hesitation. Sophie hated that he had. She glanced at Vivian’s damaged hand, then at the goblet. “She never took off her gloves. She never ate anything hot. Sometimes, when she picked up a glass, her fingers didn’t bend naturally. And she always moved her left hand near your drink.”
Vivian lunged forward. Declan caught her by the shoulder before she reached Sophie.
“You little parasite!” Vivian hissed. “You’ve been watching me.”
“I serve tables,” Sophie said, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. “Watching people is part of the job.”
Leo Romanov leaned against his chair, studying Vivian with cold fascination. “I’ve seen that kind of prosthetic before. Not in a jewelry shop. In a military laboratory.”
Christian’s gaze sharpened. “You know what was in the glass?”
“I know the color,” Leo replied. “And I know that if it was what I think it was, the glass is not the only danger in this room.”
Christian turned to Declan. “Nobody touches the table. Get a medical team here. Hazmat protocol. Quietly.”
Vivian’s expression shifted. For the first time, fear appeared to be genuine. “Christian, listen to me. They’re setting me up. Romanov wants our agreement dead. Sophie could have been paid. You know how easy it is to buy a desperate girl.”
The mention of desperation struck Sophie harder than an insult should have. Vivian knew about her mother’s medical debt. She knew about the hospital bills Sophie kept folded in her locker. The question was how.
Christian noticed Sophie’s face change. “What does she know about you?”
“Nothing,” Sophie said too quickly.
Vivian smiled. “Your mother’s treatment at St. Vincent’s is expensive, isn’t it?”
The room seemed to tilt. Sophie had never discussed her mother at the restaurant. Not with Christian. Not with Vivian. She had taken extra shifts and hidden the collection notices beneath her mattress, convinced that if she worked hard enough, the debt might stop growing.
Christian’s expression hardened. “How do you know that?”
Vivian looked from him to Sophie. “Because your beloved waitress has been selling information about your business to anyone who will pay for it.”
Sophie stared at her. “That’s a lie.”
“Then you won’t mind if they search your locker.”
Christian gave a slight nod to Declan. “Search it.”
Minutes later, Declan returned with a small envelope sealed beneath Sophie’s spare uniform. Inside lay a flash drive and a photograph of Christian entering the club three nights earlier.
Sophie had never seen either item.
Christian held the photograph between two fingers. “You want to explain this?”
“I can’t explain something I’ve never seen.”
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Vivian watched him with a calm that had returned too quickly. Sophie understood then: the broken hand had exposed the poison, but someone had prepared a second trap.
And whoever had planted the evidence had access to the staff’s private belongings.
