pay.”
I looked at Mercedes.
She was smiling… waiting.
I glanced at the total. It was outrageous—and included items we never ordered. But this wasn’t about the money. It was about control. About humiliation. About being expected to obey without question.
“I’m not paying for something I didn’t order,” I said calmly.
Javier’s expression hardened, like he didn’t recognize me anymore. Mercedes laughed softly, the sound cutting deeper than any insult.
Then, without warning, Javier threw his glass of wine in my face.
The cold liquid soaked my skin, stained my dress, and drew every eye in the restaurant toward me.
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