But the tension in the room wasn’t actually about Damian.
It was about the toddler at his side.
A little girl—maybe two—sat quietly in a high chair the host had scrambled to find. She clutched a worn velvet bunny like it was the only solid thing in the universe. Her eyes were wide and cautious, the way some kids looked when they’d learned too early that the world could disappear.
And her mouth—
Her mouth stayed closed.
Evelyn watched the other servers exchange nervous glances.
A child that age should babble, laugh, squeal.
This child held the bunny and stared past everyone like she was waiting for the room to hurt her.
Someone whispered behind Evelyn, barely audible.
“That’s Leah.”
Another whisper, sharper, scared.
“She doesn’t talk.”
Evelyn swallowed.
She’d seen rich people bring children to restaurants like accessories. But Damian Caruso didn’t look like he’d brought Leah to show her off.
He looked… exhausted.
Not tired like Evelyn.
Tired like a man who’d been fighting something invisible and losing.
The manager grabbed Evelyn’s elbow. “You,” he said under his breath. “Your section. Their table.”
Evelyn blinked. “Me?”
“Don’t argue. You’re quiet. You don’t gossip. You serve. That’s it.”
Evelyn’s throat tightened.
The booth looked like a stage. Damian sat with his back angled toward the room, a position that made it impossible to surprise him. Leah sat beside him in the high chair, bunny tucked under her arm like a secret.
Evelyn approached with water, posture straight, smile polite.
“Good evening,” she said softly. “Welcome to Velvet Iris. Can I start you off with—”
She stopped.
Not because Damian spoke.
Because his gaze shifted—sharp, sudden, like a blade turning toward light—and landed on her wrist as she reached for the table.
Evelyn’s sleeve brushed the linen.
A faint scent rose up between them.
Cheap vanilla soap. Lavender lotion from a drugstore bottle with a cracked pump.
Evelyn hadn’t thought about it. It was just what she used. The cheapest thing that didn’t make her skin itch.
