Chapter 2: What She Slid Under His Plate
"Nothing," Evelyn breathed.
"Dropped something."
Gilbert stared at her for one long second, then turned away to chase down a busboy.
She had four minutes.
Her legs moved before her brain gave permission.
She lifted a fresh bottle of wine off the tray, squared her shoulders, and walked straight back to Table Four like she belonged there.
Like she wasn't carrying a folded napkin that could get her k\*lled.
She reached Lorenzo's right side.
Leaned in to refill his glass.
And with the steadiest hand she'd ever had in her life, she slid the folded napkin under the edge of his plate.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't look up.
Evelyn stepped back.
Kept her face blank.
Moved to the next glass.
Then she heard the faint crinkle of paper.
She didn't dare look.
She just kept pouring.
Celeste's voice floated across the table — bright, practiced, warm.
"Darling, the Hargrove account.
Did Marcus confirm the transfer?"
A pause.
"He did," Lorenzo said quietly.
But something in his voice had shifted.
Just slightly.
Like a door closing in a room nobody else noticed.
8:53.
Evelyn was almost to the service corridor when a hand closed around her wrist.
Not rough.
Not gentle.
Just absolute.
She turned.
Lorenzo stood inches away, his dark eyes unreadable, the napkin folded once in his fingers.
"Your name," he said.
May you like
Not a question.
Before she could answer, the lights went out.
