“As of this morning, the final decree was signed. Lucas and I are officially divorced, and we are no longer husband and wife.”
Beatrice blinked rapidly as she stared at the seal.
“That… that cannot be real.”
“It is entirely real, Beatrice. Legally speaking, we are no longer related in any way, and even if we were, that would never give your family the right to walk into my business, consume thousands of dollars in high-end goods, and leave without paying.”
Beatrice looked down at the documents, then at her furious friends, and finally toward the glass doors.
“Camilla, please… we are family. Do not do this to me.”
“When you referred to me as nothing more than a simple servant in front of thirty-eight people today, were we family then?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“When Lucas was stealing funds from my company account to finance his mistress, were we family then?”
Silence.
“When you brought legal papers to force me out of my own business, were we family?”
Beatrice’s friends began stepping away from her, clearly distancing themselves from the situation.
“I only came today because Beatrice assured us everything was taken care of!” one woman declared loudly.
“Me too!” another chimed in. “I am certainly not getting dragged into legal trouble because of her family’s lies!”
Beatrice began crying in real panic.
“My son deceived me, too!”
“You can explain your side of the story to the proper authorities,” I replied firmly. “But the outstanding debt for this meal remains unpaid.”
Gavin walked up beside me.
“Should I call security, Camilla?”
“Just to keep the peace, Gavin. Nobody is going to be harmed, but if anyone refuses to pay their portion or attempts to leave without providing full identification, please dial the police immediately.”
Once Beatrice realized I wouldn’t back down, she started begging desperately.
“Just write it off as advertising, Camilla! This restaurant makes so much money, so twenty thousand dollars is not going to ruin you!”
Her plea confirmed everything I had always believed about how she viewed me.
My endless hours of work meant nothing to her.
The fresh ingredients, my employees’ wages, and my skill meant nothing either.
She simply believed I could work harder and replace whatever she took for her convenience.
“No,” I said coldly.
Beatrice buried her face in her hands.
Within minutes, her friends began arguing among themselves, demanding she settle the bill or insisting they would only pay for what they personally consumed.
The admiration surrounding her all afternoon dissolved into resentment.
In the end, we had to call the local police when Beatrice refused to cooperate and several women tried to push past the host stand.
I gave the officers the master receipt, detailed order logs, and high-definition security footage showing Beatrice placing the orders.
The police took formal statements and collected identification from everyone present.
I never raised my voice or demanded that anyone be dragged away in handcuffs.
There was no need for a dramatic scene.
