The day I met my fiancé’s family, his mother asked me to pay the bill. When I refused, he leaned in coldly: “Pay, or we’re done.”

I leaned down, mimicking the cold tone he’d used on me just minutes before.

“The ‘data’ I’ve been analyzing? It wasn’t for a tech firm. It was every offshore account, every bribe, and every shell company your family ever touched. I have enough on you to bury you under the prison.”

Sylvia was sobbing now, her designer dress stained with spilled wine. “This is a mistake! You have no right!”

“Actually,” I said, picking up the leather checkbook Sylvia had pushed toward me earlier. I tossed it onto Marcus’s back. “Since you’re so concerned about the bill—consider this one settled by the Department of Justice.”

I walked toward the exit, the sirens wailing outside in a beautiful, chaotic symphony. As I passed the restaurant manager, who was shaking behind the bar, I paused.

“Send the bill for the windows to the federal impound lot,” I told him. “And tell the chef the sea bass was excellent. It’s a shame the company was so trash.”

I stepped out into the cool night air, the red and blue lights reflecting off the glass shards in my hair. I didn’t look back. I had a lot of paperwork to do, and for the first time in two years, I didn’t have to pretend to be someone who would take a hit and stay down.

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