Chapter 48 48

Chapter 48 48
  ~TESSA~
    It was happening!
    Again... My second date with the love of my life... Ryder Bishop. 
    This time, it was rather... let me say... the quite luxurious way.
    The car pulled up in front of the restaurant like it belonged in a movie.
    It was one of the Bishop family’s sleek black sedans... tinted windows, polished chrome, a driver who wore gloves and didn’t say much beyond “Miss Tessa, sir.”
    I was already nervous. 
    Not because of the restaurant. 
    Not even because of the dress Debbie had picked out, though the slit was higher than I was used to.
    I was nervous because this was the first time Ryder and I were stepping out in public as… us.
    Since we moved into the mansion.
    No more hiding. 
    No more fear.
    He got out first, walked around, and opened my door with that casual ease that somehow made it feel like he was both my bodyguard and my boyfriend.
    The night air smelled like jasmine, and my heels clicked against the pavement as I stepped out.
    Ryder’s hand brushed my waist. “You look…”
    He stopped, eyes scanning me like he hadn’t quite wrapped his head around it yet.
    I smiled. “What? Hot?”
    He smirked. “That too. But mostly like you’re about to cause a scene.”
    I was about to laugh when his phone buzzed in his pocket. 
    He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening just slightly.
    “Everything okay?” I asked.
    “Yeah,” he said. “One minute. Go ahead and head in—I’ll be right behind you.”
    “You sure?”
    He gave me a quick kiss on the temple. “Promise.”
    I walked toward the restaurant doors, aware of the way heads turned as I passed. 
    The place was new, exclusive, and glowing with soft golden lighting. 
    The kind of place where everything whispered wealth and secrecy.
    The hostess gave me a warm smile. “Reservation name?”
    “Bishop.”
    “Ah, of course. Table eleven. Just this way.”
    I followed her through the main dining room, taking in the soft clinking of glasses, the laughter, the scent of roasted garlic and white wine sauce in the air.
    Then I heard it.
    A voice I hadn’t heard in years.
    “Well, well, well… look who we have here.”
    I froze.
    No. 
    No freaking way.
    I turned slowly, and there she was... seated at a corner table with two other women, one hand wrapped around a wine glass, the other gesturing lazily toward me.
    Clara.
    The queen of high school cruelty. 
    The monster from my college nightmares.
    She hadn’t changed. Blonde hair ironed flat and parted too far to the side.
    Makeup like a department store exploded. Designer dress, probably fake. 
    Smirk? All too real.
    “If it isn’t the cheap little art student who dropped out after realizing she was never going to be anything.”
    I blinked. “Excuse me?”
    “Oh come on,” Clara said, waving her hand like we were old friends. “Everyone knew it. You were always so earnest. Thought your charcoal sketches were gonna pay the rent.”
    She took a sip of wine. “Guess you figured it out in time and decided to quit before you really embarrassed yourself.”
    One of her friends... Bridget, maybe?... snorted. “What is she wearing? Wait. Is that the real version of that Galliano dress?”
    “No way,” said the other. “Where’d you steal it from? Marcus’s dry cleaning?”
    My stomach clenched.
    I took a step forward, straightened my shoulders.
    “I don’t have time for people like you,” I said calmly.
    “Oooh,” Clara mocked. “So fierce now. Tell me—what are you even doing here? Wait... don’t tell me. Did you sneak in to gawk at the rich people?”
    I opened my mouth to shut her down...
    And that’s when I heard it.
    “Back off.”
    Ryder.
    He stepped into view from behind me, voice cold as steel, eyes locked on Clara like she was a cigarette someone had stubbed out on his boots.
    Clara blinked at him.
    Then blinked again.
    “Oh my God,” she laughed, “you’re dating... her? What is this, some biker sugar-daddy fantasy?”
    "Ooouuu... he does look like one of those aimless bikers though," Bridget added.
    Ryder’s jaw twitched.
    I took a step forward.
    “Careful, Clara,” I said. “You’re getting desperate.”
    But Clara wasn’t done. “No, really... did you tell him you used to sleep with Marcus for the free booze and luxury apartment?”
    And that...
    That was the last straw.
    My hand moved before my brain caught up.
    The slap landed with a sharp, clean CRACK...
    ~
    The sound of the slap echoed louder than I expected.
    Clara’s mouth dropped open. 
    Her hand flew to her cheek, her red nails trembling over the flush that was quickly blooming across her skin.
    Her two sidekicks gasped like we were on a reality show, staring at me like I’d just detonated a social nuke.
    But I didn’t care.
    Not tonight.
    Not anymore.
    Clara's wine glass wobbled slightly in her grip, but her eyes... those same venom-laced eyes from college... never left mine.
    “You bitch... slap me?” she hissed, trembling with outrage.
    “I warned you, didn't I? ... Huh?” I said, voice steady, “You just don’t know when to shut your mouth.”
    Clara let out a choked laugh, stepping forward, face flushed with fury. “You think you're someone now because you have... him... this thing standing next to you?” 
    She flicked her gaze toward Ryder with open contempt. “I was right. You’re still trash, Tessa. You’ll always be trash.”
    Rage surged through me.
    Before I could think, I reached for a full glass of red wine sitting on an empty nearby table.
    Clara didn’t even see it coming.
    The wine splashed across her face, staining her fake lashes, soaking the front of her beige knockoff dress.
    She let out a shriek as the glass slipped from my hand and shattered at her feet.
    “You absolute bitch!” she screamed, lunging toward me.
    But I was already ready.
    When she lifted her hand to slap me...
    I caught her wrist.
    Mid-air.
    Hard.
    Her arm froze, suspended between us.
    “You’re not touching me again,” I said coolly.
    Her friends backed up.
    And then...
    “Everything alright here?” came a calm, unfamiliar voice.
    We all turned.
    A tall man in a sharp navy suit was walking toward us from the back of the dining room.
    Late thirties, lean, expensive watch, calm eyes.
    I recognized him.
    Bruce Lennox... I guess... owner of the restaurant. Big name. Debbie mentioned him earlier.
    And apparently… Clara’s boyfriend.
    She whirled around like she’d just found salvation.
    “Bruce! Oh my God, finally—she attacked me. You saw it, right? She poured wine on me, slapped me in front of everyone, made a scene!”
    He glanced at the glass on the floor.
    Then at Clara.
    Then at Ryder.
    And then… he stepped closer to her and whispered something directly into her ear.
    She blinked. Then blinked again.
    Bruce’s tone was quiet, but I still caught it.
    “The Bishops are our top investors, Clara. You just picked the wrong fight.”
    Her entire face changed.
    The fury crumpled into something tight and cold. But not before her pride pushed one last attempt out of her.
    “She shouldn’t be allowed in a place like this,” Clara spat. “She doesn’t belong..."
    “I want them out. Now," Ryder said sharply.
    Bruce turned to security without hesitation. “Escort them out.”
    “No!” Clara yelped, twisting around. “Bruce... what are you... ? You’re just going to let her—!”
    Her protests were cut short as two polite but firm security guards appeared at her sides and began guiding her and her girls toward the exit.
    The crowd was already staring, murmuring, whispering. One woman actually applauded.
    As Clara passed us, she hissed, “This isn’t over.”
    I smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m counting on that. I’m just better prepared now.”
    Ryder offered his arm, cool and smooth as ever.
    “Shall we?”
    I took it without hesitation.
    And as we walked to our table, I didn’t look back.