" You booked a table? You must be talking nonsense," Sienna laughed until her waist bent in half.
She was absolutely certain that Grayson was making himself look ridiculous—pretending he could afford a meal here. He must have been so humiliated by everyone's mockery that, in a fit of stubbornness, he decided to actually eat here. But that loser had no idea what kind of place this was—it was a Michelin‐starred restaurant. Did he really have enough money to pay the bill?
Only a nobody would be clueless enough to treat Michelin like an ordinary diner. Sienna knew it wouldn't be long before Grayson's face turned ashen when the waiter brought the check. She resolved to record his shocked reaction on her phone.
"Sir, please don't joke," the restaurant manager said, frowning. She, too, found Grayson's claim outrageous. Judging by his clothes and his age, she couldn't imagine he could afford Michelin prices. In her mind, he had to be here just to use the restroom—like all the other freeloaders.
Chloe, standing next to Grayson, grew anxious. He'd already made his declaration—there was no turning back. She fumbled for her wallet, checking if she had enough cash. If not, she would bite the bullet and pay herself—anything to prevent Sienna from laughing at Grayson again.
"Sir, if you truly booked a table, may I ask which number?" the manager asked, doing her best to stay polite despite her doubts.
"Table Six," Grayson answered.
"Six?" Sienna exploded with laughter. She pointed at Grayson. "This loser can't even lie properly—he says he booked Table Six. Hahaha, that's the funniest thing I've ever heard!"
Of course she thought it was laughable—Table Six was exactly where Sienna and Sebastian were seated, and they hadn't finished eating yet. For Grayson to claim the same table number was a blatant attempt to embarrass himself.
"Manager, please kick this liar out," Sienna said, nestling against Sebastian's side as she glared proudly at Grayson. "We're sitting at Table Six. How could he possibly also have Table Six?"
In that moment, Sienna felt nothing but sweet satisfaction.
The manager, fed up, yelled, "Security!"
"Wait!" Grayson pulled out his phone and handed it to her. "I have a message—look for yourself."
"Oh, that old phone of mine," Sienna sneered. "You only deserve my discarded phone anyway." She flashed a triumphant look, convinced her victory was assured.
The manager ignored Sienna's snark. Though she still doubted Grayson, she took the phone and read the text.
"This is indeed a confirmation from our restaurant. Table Six, VIP section," she said, startled.
"No way," Sienna scoffed. "It must be fake. We reserved Table Six—and we've been eating for over ten minutes already!"
"That's strange," the manager said, turning to Sienna and Sebastian. "May I see your reservation confirmation?"
Sebastian, equally eager to prove himself right, produced his phone and showed his own message.
"See? Mine says Table Six, too!" he said with a smug grin.
Now there were two conflicting claims to Table Six. One of them had to be lying. Sebastian was convinced his reservation was legitimate—so Grayson must have forged his. He looked forward to exposing Grayson's ruse.
The manager studied both messages, then burst out laughing. "Gentlemen and lady, neither of you is wrong—both reservations are valid. Mr. Cole reserved VIP Table Six, while you reserved the standard Table Six."
Sienna's face went pale. What? The manager was telling the truth? Moreover, VIP? That meant Grayson wasn't just in "standard Six," but in the prime VIP niche—an even more prestigious spot than hers!
Realizing her mistake, the manager's attitude shifted 180 degrees. She bowed slightly in apology. "My sincere apologies. Please follow me."
She led Grayson and Chloe down the carpeted aisle. When they reached VIP Table Six, another server panicked.
"How is this possible? That table is already reserved!" the server cried.
"No, Manager," the server stammered, "the VIP Table Six reservation is under Mr. Cole and his lady guest. They arrived but went to the restroom—oh, here they are." He pointed toward the bathrooms, and in walked Sienna and Sebastian.
As soon as Sienna saw the manager escorting Grayson and Chloe to her table, she realized what had happened. Her face turned a stormy shade of crimson.
"Excuse me, this is VIP Table Six—reserved for Mr. Cole and his guest," the manager said, addressing Sienna. "Your table is in the standard section."
At last, Sienna understood. She'd always wondered why Table Six seemed so special: there were only five tables separated by half‐height screens, set with silver flatware and gold‐trimmed placemats. Now she recognized it as a VIP table.
And now she was about to be demoted to a standard seat—while Grayson and Chloe would occupy the coveted VIP spot. For Sienna, this was a crushing humiliation.
"I refuse to move! Why should I?" she shouted, flopping down at her spot and crossing her arms like a petulant child.
The manager sighed and turned to a nearby server. "What happened? Didn't you verify reservation confirmations when the guests arrived?"
The server, visibly rattled, explained, "The VIP Table Six was booked under 'Mr. Cole,' with a note saying 'one man, one woman.' When they came in, I asked, and they said they were Mr. Cole and his lady passenger—so I didn't check further."
"Mr. Cole? I said Mr. Lowe!" Sebastian blurted, realization dawning on him. In the noisy lobby, he'd misheard. No wonder his thousand‐dollar booking got him VIP treatment—he'd unknowingly occupied Mr. Cole's superior table.
Despite knowing the truth, Sebastian refused to admit his mistake. He clenched his jaw and stayed silent.
Having heard everything, the manager nodded. "So, you two really won't move?"
Sienna scowled. "Of course not! VIP means VIP—don't you know who I am?"
"I'm sorry," the manager said, turning to Sebastian and Sienna. "You booked a standard table, not VIP. Your deposit was only a partial holding fee. VIP Table Six carries these additional charges: US $500 for the VIP seat itself, US $500 in service fees for silverware, US $3 000 for live music, and US $200 as gratuity for the waiter. The food alone runs about US $10 000, not counting beverages. If you still wish to keep the VIP table, you must pay the remainder. Otherwise, please move to your standard seat."
Sienna's mind reeled. Ten thousand dollars—just for a meal (let alone excluding wine)? Plus another thousand for music, silverware, and seat fees? She felt her world spin. There was no way Sebastian could pay such a bill.
Still, she refused to slink away in defeat. "Bah! That's nothing. Honey, we'll keep this table!" she told Sebastian, forcing a confident smile. After all, it hardly mattered whose credit card footed the bill—Sebastian had to pay.
Sebastian, however, broke into a cold sweat. In his mind, he'd budgeted at most two thousand dollars for this fancy dinner. Now a twelve‑thousand‑dollar invoice loomed over him.
"No—let's go," he whispered, tugging at Sienna's elbow.
Humiliated but still defiant, Sienna shot him a furious glare. "What—can't you even cover this?!" She whipped her head around to glare at the onlookers—Grayson, Chloe, the manager, servers, and curious diners. There was no way she was going to leave in disgrace.
"I refuse to move," she shouted at Sebastian, straightening up. "If you won't pay, then go ahead and eat alone. I'm staying."
Sebastian, finally at his wits' end, yanked his hand free. "Fine," he said, his voice trembling. Without another word, he turned and walked away—leaving Sienna stunned.
"Mr. Cole, I'm so sorry for the confusion," the manager said gently to Grayson and Chloe. She waved them toward their seats. "Please be seated. We will start service immediately."
Thus, Sienna and Sebastian were escorted to their standard Table Six, while Grayson and Chloe took the VIP seat. Had this been any ordinary day, Sienna might have been thrilled with a standard reservation. But now, seeing Grayson and Chloe ensconced in the secluded, silver‐set chairs, attended by a personal server and a live band, her heart twisted with envy and bitterness.
She also couldn't help but wonder: where on earth had Grayson found the money to bring Chloe here? The manager had said that without any alcohol, their meal alone cost about US $10 000. If they added fine wine, the tab could easily reach US $20 000.
Sienna glanced over at Grayson and Chloe. A server approached them, carrying a bottle of red wine. With ceremonious precision, he poured for Grayson and Chloe as if they were royalty.
Sienna's resentment flared hotter. And it wasn't just Sienna who wondered—Chloe's mind whirled with questions.
"Grayson, where did you get the money? And when did you book the table? We were together the entire time—how did I not hear you make a reservation?" Chloe asked once they were seated.
"Heh heh," Grayson replied with a grin. "You don't need to know exactly how I booked it." He wasn't about to tell her that, while they were in the taxi, he'd messaged Grandpa Jenkins to arrange the reservation. Jenkins had taken care of all the details and forwarded Grayson the confirmation text.
"As for the money," Grayson continued, "I won a prize."
Chloe's eyes went wide. "You did? What prize?"
"I hit the lottery—won one hundred thousand," he said, not revealing his family background.
Chloe's heart sank. "But… we've already spent twenty thousand tonight, and if we keep going at this rate, we'll blow through your winnings in no time. You shouldn't have spent it all on me."
Chloe's concern was genuine. If Grayson were a trust‐fund kid, she wouldn't mind so much. But he came from a poor family—she would've preferred he use any windfall to buy clothes, treat himself to good meals, or at least save for his own needs.
"Don't worry, Chloe," Grayson said earnestly. "You've always been there for me. I always wanted to treat you to a nice meal, but I never had the money—until now. My first thought was to bring you somewhere amazing. No matter what you think, I feel it was worth every penny, because I spent it on someone who truly cares about me."
Chloe was deeply moved. In that moment, she thought of Grayson in a new light. Her feelings began to shift, even as Sienna's bitterness simmered on the other side of the room.