Chapter 19 Nineteen

Chapter 19 Nineteen
The next two weeks were the happiest I'd been in years.

Alexander and I fell into an easy rhythm. We'd arrive at The Seven together, work side by side all day, then spend our evenings either at the restaurant or at his apartment. We told the staff we were together, and while there were some raised eyebrows, everyone seemed supportive.

"About time," was Marco's only comment, which from him was practically a blessing.

The restaurant was thriving. Samantha Rodriguez's glowing review had been published, calling The Seven "a phoenix rising from the ashes" and praising both the food and the "renewed energy" in the establishment. Reservations were booked solid for the next month.

My marketing efforts were paying off too. Our Instagram following had tripled, the website redesign was generating online orders, and several food bloggers had featured us. The financial projections showed we'd break even within three months and turn a profit soon after.

Everything was falling into place.

Brodie was doing well too. He'd found a job as a barista and was attending NA meetings regularly. He called me every few days with updates, and for the first time in years, I didn't feel a knot of anxiety when I saw his name on my phone.

"You seem happy," Alexander said one morning as we drove to work.

"I am happy."

"Good. You deserve it." He reached over and took my hand. "We both do."

At the restaurant, Robert was waiting with news. "The Chen investors want to finalize the deal. They're putting in two hundred thousand for a thirty percent stake."

Alexander's face lit up. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. They want to sign papers next week."

This was huge. The investment would give us capital to upgrade equipment, expand the menu, maybe even open for lunch service. It would secure The Seven's future for years to come.

"That's incredible," I said, hugging Robert impulsively.

"It's because of you two," he said. "They see the partnership working, see the restaurant turning around. They want to be part of the success story."

After he left, Alexander spun me around. "We did it. We actually did it."

"We're not done yet. Still have nine months to go on the will."

"I know. But after that, we'll renegotiate. Make you a full partner, not just because of the will but because you've earned it."

The words warmed me more than I could express. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It's not a favor—it's good business. And it's the right thing to do." He kissed me. "Besides, I'm hoping you'll stick around for reasons that have nothing to do with the restaurant."

"Oh? What reasons?"

"I'm sure I can think of a few." He pulled me closer, and I laughed.

"We're at work."

"I'm aware."

"People will see."

"Let them."

We were kissing when Lena walked in and immediately backtracked. "Sorry! I'll come back!"

"It's fine," I said, laughing and pulling away from Alexander. "What do you need?"

"There's someone here to see you. A woman. She says she's an old friend."

I frowned. "Did she give a name?"

"Melissa something? She's waiting in the dining room."

The name hit me like ice water. Melissa. One of my former best friends. One of the two people who'd embezzled from my boutique and destroyed my business.

"What's wrong?" Alexander asked, seeing my face.

"Nothing. I just—" I took a breath. "I'll handle it."

I walked to the dining room with dread pooling in my stomach. Melissa was sitting at a table by the window, looking exactly as I remembered. Polished, beautiful, with that easy confidence that came from never really facing consequences.

"Isabella!" She stood and moved to hug me, but I stepped back.

"What are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I heard you were working here. Doing well for yourself."

"What do you want, Melissa?"

"Can't I just visit? Catch up?"

"After you stole from me? After you disappeared and left me with nothing? No, you can't just visit."

Her smile faltered. "Look, I know things ended badly—"

"Badly? You and Amanda embezzled fifty thousand dollars from my business. You cost me everything."

"It wasn't personal, Isabella. We were desperate—"

"I don't care." I kept my voice low, aware that staff members were around. "You need to leave."

"Just hear me out. Please." She looked around. "This is quite a setup you've got here. Nice place, fancy restaurant. You've landed on your feet pretty well, haven't you?"

There was something in her tone that made my skin crawl. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing! I'm just saying, last I heard you were bankrupt and struggling. And now you're co-owner of The Seven? That's quite a turnaround."

"I don't owe you an explanation."

"No, but I'm curious. How did you manage it? This restaurant is worth millions." Her eyes gleamed with something ugly. "Did you find yourself a sugar daddy? Is that how you operate now?"

The words struck like a slap. Before I could respond, Alexander appeared at my side.

"Is there a problem here?"

Melissa's expression changed instantly, turning flirtatious. "You must be Alexander Pearson. I've heard so much about you. I'm Melissa, an old friend of Isabella's."

"Isabella and I need to get back to work. So if you'll excuse us—"

"Of course. But Isabella, we should catch up properly. Have coffee or something. I'd love to hear all about your new... situation." She pulled out a business card and placed it on the table. "Call me. We have so much to talk about."

She left with a wave, and I stood there frozen, her words echoing in my head.

"Who was that?" Alexander asked.

"One of the people who stole from me. Who destroyed my business."

"And she just showed up here? Why?"

"I don't know." But something in my gut told me this wasn't a social call. Melissa didn't do anything without a motive.

Alexander picked up the business card she'd left. "Melissa Grant, Public Relations Consultant." He looked at me. "Do you think she's working?"

"I don't know what she's doing. But nothing good."

"Should we be worried?"

"Probably."

But I pushed the encounter out of my mind, focusing on work instead. The lunch service was busy, and by the time dinner rolled around, I'd almost forgotten about Melissa's strange visit.

Almost.

That night, at Alexander's apartment, I couldn't shake the unease. He noticed, of course.

"You're thinking about her."

"How did you know?"

"You've been quiet all evening. That's not like you." He pulled me against him on the couch. "Talk to me."

"Something felt off about her visit. The timing, the questions, the way she was looking around. Like she was cataloging everything."

"Maybe she was just being nosy."

"Maybe. But Melissa doesn't do anything without an agenda. She's calculated, manipulative. If she's here, she wants something."

"Then we'll handle it. Whatever it is."

I wanted to believe him. But Melissa had already destroyed my life once. What was to stop her from doing it again?

Three days later, the first article appeared.

It was in a local gossip blog, the kind that trafficked in rumors and speculation. The headline read: "Rags to Riches: How One Woman Went from Bankruptcy to Restaurant Royalty."

The article detailed my failed boutique, the embezzlement scandal, and my "mysterious" inheritance from Patrick Pearson. It carefully skirted libel by asking questions rather than making direct accusations, but the implications were clear: I'd somehow manipulated a dying old man into leaving me his restaurant.

"Fuck," I whispered, reading it on my phone.

Alexander appeared at my shoulder. "What's wrong?"

I showed him. He read it, his expression darkening with each paragraph.

"This is bullshit."

"But it's out there now. People will see it, wonder if it's true—"

"Anyone who knows you will know it's garbage."

"But what about people who don't know me? Future customers? Investors?" I felt panic rising. "Alexander, this could ruin everything we've built."

"No, it won't. It's one blog post on a site nobody reads."

But he was wrong. By the next morning, the article had been shared dozens of times on social media. By afternoon, other blogs were picking it up, each adding their own speculation.

And then the calls started.

First from reporters wanting comments. Then from concerned customers asking if the rumors were true. Then from vendors wondering if they should be worried about payment.

Robert fielded most of them, but the damage was being done. I could see it in the way some staff members looked at me, the whispers that stopped when I entered a room.

"We need to respond," I told Alexander.

"And say what? That some bitter ex-friend is spreading lies? That'll just give it more attention."

"So we do nothing?"

"We keep our heads down and let it blow over. These things always do."

But it didn't blow over. The next article appeared two days later, this time in a more mainstream outlet. It featured an "anonymous source" who claimed to have witnessed inappropriate behavior between Patrick Pearson and me.

The source was obviously Melissa, though she wasn't named. And the "inappropriate behavior" was completely fabricated. But it didn't matter. The narrative was set: I was a gold-digger who'd seduced a dying man.

The Chen investors called. They were "reconsidering" their investment pending clarification of the situation.

Reservations started canceling.

Online reviews began appearing, calling The Seven "morally compromised."

And through it all, Alexander stood by me, insisting it would pass. But I could see the strain on his face, the tension in his shoulders.

This was destroying everything we'd built. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

On the fifth day after the first article, I received a text from an unknown number: We need to talk. Meet me at Pike Place Market, north entrance, noon tomorrow. Come alone. - M

Melissa.

I should have ignored it. Should have shown Alexander and let him handle it. But I was desperate, and desperate people make stupid decisions.

So the next day, I told Alexander I had errands to run and met Melissa at Pike Place Market.

She was waiting by a coffee cart, looking pleased with herself.

"Isabella. Thanks for coming."

"What do you want?"

"Straight to business. I always liked that about you." She sipped her coffee. "Here's the situation. Those articles? They're just the beginning. I have sources at every major news outlet in the city. One word from me, and this becomes a real scandal."

"You're behind this."

"Of course I am. Did you think I'd just let you waltz into success after what you did to Amanda and me?"

"What I did? You stole from me!"

"We took what we were owed. You always treated us like employees instead of partners. But that's water under the bridge." She smiled. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to pay me two hundred thousand dollars, and I'll make all of this go away. The articles, the rumors, all of it."

"I don't have two hundred thousand dollars."

"Yes, you do. The Chen investment. It's perfect timing, really."

My blood ran cold. "How do you know about that?"

"I have my sources. So, do we have a deal?"

"You're blackmailing me."

"I'm offering you a solution to a problem. Big difference." She finished her coffee and tossed the cup. "You have three days to decide. After that, things get much worse for you. And for your boyfriend."

She walked away, leaving me standing in the crowd, my world crumbling around me.

I couldn't pay her. The Chen money was for the restaurant, not personal expenses. But if I didn't pay, she'd destroy everything—the restaurant's reputation, my relationship with Alexander, the future we were building.

I was trapped, and Melissa knew it.