Then the bill hit the table.
$400.
When I said I wasn’t paying for everyone, her expression flipped instantly—from surprise to anger.
She insisted.
Her family stared.
The table went dead silent.
And that’s when it clicked.
They weren’t there to meet me.
They were there to eat.
As the tension built, the waiter walked past and discreetly slid a folded note onto the table.
I opened it under my napkin.
“She’s not who she says she is.”
