Chapter 3 - The Intervention
Eleanor sneered, her grip tightening until her knuckles turned white. "Your mother? A gutter rat doesn't own gold like this. I’ve seen maids pawn family heirlooms before, but you picked the wrong house to—"
Before Eleanor could finish tearing the necklace from Chloe’s neck, a large, cold hand closed around her wrist.
The grip was not violent, but it possessed an immovable, crushing authority that brooked no argument. Eleanor froze, the venomous words dying in her throat. She blinked, her expression shifting instantly from incandescent rage to a calculated, honeyed simulation of warmth as her eyes tracked upward.
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Standing beside them was Adrian Sterling, impeccably tailored in a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo, his classic silver-threaded bow tie accentuating a jawline carved from granite. His dark eyes were utterly devoid of warmth, fixed not on Eleanor’s smiling face, but on the hand she still had clamped around the waitress's necklace.
"Adrian," Eleanor purred, leaning into his space with practiced coyness, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "You're finally here. Thank goodness. This wretched girl dropped the entire tray and then had the audacity to—"
