She sighed.

“I see.”

Richard leaned closer.

“I’m trying to prevent an embarrassing situation.”

“For whom?”

“For you.”

Eleanor’s expression became still.

Around them, a few nearby guests began listening.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, “but I assure you, I am quite comfortable.”

Richard did not move.

“You should probably leave before the manager notices.”

Eleanor looked directly into his eyes.

“Sir, the manager already knows I’m here.”

Richard laughed.

“Of course he does.”

At that moment, Daniel returned.

“Mrs. Grant, would you like to order?”

Richard turned toward him.

“Daniel, I think there has been a mistake with this table.”

Daniel looked confused.

“No, sir.”

Richard stared at him.

“No?”

“No. Mrs. Grant has a reservation.”

Richard’s face hardened.

“Do you know who I am?”

Daniel hesitated.

“Yes, Mr. Halston.”

“Then perhaps you should listen carefully. This woman clearly doesn’t belong at Table Twelve.”

The entire area fell silent.

Eleanor slowly placed her hands on the table.

For the first time that evening, sadness appeared in her eyes.

Not because Richard had hurt her.

She had lived too long to be destroyed by the opinion of a stranger.

But because she recognized the kind of man he was.

She had known many of them.

Men who believed money was evidence of intelligence.

Men who assumed kindness was weakness.

Men who only respected people after discovering their titles.

Eleanor stood.

Richard smiled, believing he had won.

But Eleanor did not reach for her coat.

Instead, she picked up her handbag.

“You know,” she said calmly, “I spent most of my life trying to understand why some people need expensive rooms to feel important.”

Richard’s smile disappeared.

“And?”

“And I finally realized something.”

She stepped closer.

“The room was never the problem.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed.

Eleanor smiled.

“Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Halston.”

Then she walked toward the manager’s office.

Richard returned to his table feeling victorious.

He had no idea that within the next hour, the most expensive dinner of his life was about to begin.

Richard sat back down and reached for his wine.

Gregory stared at him.

“What was that?”

Richard shrugged.

“A problem handled.”

“A problem?”

“She was sitting at Table Twelve.”

Gregory looked toward the manager’s office.

“You don’t own Table Twelve.”

“I practically keep this restaurant alive.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

Richard ignored him.

For several minutes, the dinner continued. One of the investors discussed projected returns on their new development. Richard tried to focus, but his attention kept drifting toward the hallway where Eleanor had disappeared.

Then the restaurant manager emerged.

His name was Michael Laurent.

Richard had known him for years.

Michael was usually calm, polished, and careful with every guest.

Tonight, however, his face looked pale.

Behind him walked Eleanor Grant.

Richard noticed immediately that she was no longer alone.

Michael walked slightly behind her.

Not beside her.

Behind her.

Richard’s confidence weakened.

Eleanor stopped beside his table.

“Mr. Halston.”

Richard stood.

“Mrs. Grant.”

She looked toward Gregory and the investors.

“I believe an introduction is necessary.”

Richard forced a smile.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I think it will.”

Michael cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mrs. Eleanor Grant.”

One of the investors suddenly sat upright.

“Grant?”

Eleanor nodded.

Richard noticed the reaction.

The investor turned pale.

“Eleanor Grant?”

Richard looked from one face to another.

“What?”

Michael continued.

“Mrs. Grant is the owner of this property.”

Richard froze.

“The property?”

“The Grand Aurelia building, the hotel beside it, and several commercial properties in the district.”

Gregory slowly lowered his glass.

Richard stared at Eleanor.

The old handbag.

The plain dress.

The worn shoes.

Suddenly, none of them mattered.

But Eleanor noticed the exact moment his perception changed.

That was what disappointed her most.

Richard’s voice became quieter.

“Mrs. Grant, I didn’t realize…”

“No,” Eleanor interrupted.

“You didn’t.”