Some lines are drawn in wealth. Others are carved in silence.
Harlow's was already packed by the time Ethan arrived at 4:53 PM.
He pushed through the back entrance, the familiar smell of grilled meat and beer hitting him immediately. The kitchen was chaos—orders shouting, pans clanging, the fryer hissing as someone dropped in a fresh basket of fries.
"Cross! Thank God." Danny appeared from the office, clipboard in hand, looking more frazzled than usual. "We've got three big tables coming in at six. University crowd. They pre-ordered bottles."
"Got it," Ethan said, tying on his apron.
"And listen—" Danny lowered his voice. "These are Monroe Development clients. The owner wants everything perfect. No screw-ups."
Ethan's hands stilled on the apron strings. "Monroe?"
"Yeah. Gregory Monroe's company. They do some kind of quarterly thing here." Danny clapped him on the shoulder. "Just do what you always do. You'll be fine."
Ethan nodded, but something cold had settled in his stomach.
Monroe.
As in Vanessa Monroe.
It's a common name, he told himself. Doesn't mean anything.
But Silverbrook wasn't that big. And Monroe Development was one of the largest real estate firms in the city.
The odds were uncomfortably high.
"Table assignments are on the board," Danny called over his shoulder, already heading back toward the kitchen. "You've got the main section tonight!"
Ethan checked the board. Tables one through eight—the premium section near the windows, where the lighting was better and the atmosphere was designed to impress.
Of course.
He grabbed his order pad and stationed himself near the host stand, watching as the first wave of customers filtered in. Couples, mostly. A few small groups. Business casual attire, polite smiles, the kind of people who tipped well if you didn't bother them too much.
Ethan fell into the rhythm easily—greet, seat, take orders, deliver food, clear plates, repeat.
By 5:45, his section was nearly full.
And then the door opened, and everything changed.
They arrived in a group of ten, loud and laughing, already half-drunk from wherever they'd been before this.
Ethan recognized them immediately.
Marcus Chen—varsity jacket, slicked-back hair, the guy who'd mocked him outside the student center. Madison Park—blonde, designer handbag, president of some social committee. Blake Torres, Sophie Lim, a few others whose names Ethan didn't know but whose faces he'd seen around campus.
The children of Silverbrook's elite.
And in the center of the group, looking slightly uncomfortable, was Vanessa Monroe.
Ethan's stomach dropped.
No. Not here. Not now.
"Good evening," the hostess said brightly. "Party of ten?"
"That's right," Marcus said, flashing a grin. "We've got a reservation. Under Monroe Development."
"Of course! Right this way."
The hostess led them directly into Ethan's section.
Of course she did.
Ethan's mind raced. He could ask Danny to reassign the table. Claim he was overwhelmed, that he needed backup. But that would raise questions, and the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself.
Just do your job. Stay professional. They probably won't even notice you.
The group settled into the large corner table, pulling out chairs, tossing jackets over seat backs, still laughing about something that had happened before they arrived.
Ethan took a breath and approached.
"Good evening," he said, his voice steady. "Can I start you off with something to drink?"
Marcus looked up—and his grin widened.
"Well, well, well. Look who it is."
The table went quiet.
Ethan felt every eye turn toward him.
"It's Cross, right?" Marcus leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "From Econ?"
"That's right," Ethan said evenly. "What can I get you to drink?"
"Dude, you work here?" Blake said, looking genuinely surprised. "I thought you were, like, some genius scholarship kid."
"Genius doesn't pay the bills," Madison said, her tone dripping with fake sympathy. "Right, Ethan?"
A few people snickered.
Ethan's jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. "Drinks?"
"Relax, man. We're just messing with you." Marcus waved a hand. "We'll start with a round of beers. Whatever's on tap."
"And shots," Sophie added. "Tequila. The good stuff."
Ethan wrote it down. "Anything else?"
"Yeah." Marcus smirked. "Try not to spill anything, okay? These shirts are expensive."
More laughter.
Ethan didn't react. He'd learned a long time ago that reaction was what people like Marcus wanted. Give them nothing, and they got bored.
"I'll be right back with your drinks," he said.
He turned to leave—and his eyes met Vanessa's.
She was sitting at the far end of the table, her expression unreadable. She didn't laugh. Didn't smile. Just looked at him with something that might have been recognition or discomfort or both.
Then she looked away.
Ethan walked back toward the bar, his chest tight.
It's fine. Just do your job. Get through the shift.
The next hour was brutal.
Marcus's group was loud, demanding, and treated Ethan like he was part of the furniture. They snapped their fingers for refills, made jokes at his expense when he came to clear plates, and tipped their chairs back like they owned the place.
"Yo, Cross!" Blake called at one point. "This steak is medium-well. I ordered medium-rare."
Ethan looked at the steak. It was perfect—pink in the center, charred on the outside.
"I can take it back if you'd like," Ethan said.
"Nah, it's cool. Just wanted to see if you'd actually do it." Blake grinned. "You're a good sport, man."
Madison leaned over. "Do you always work here? Or is this, like, a weekend thing?"
"Most nights," Ethan said.
"God, that must be exhausting. When do you even have time to study?"
"I manage."
"I bet." She exchanged a glance with Sophie. "I don't think I could do it. Working and school? I'd die."
"Some people don't have a choice," Ethan said quietly.
The table went silent for half a second.
Then Marcus laughed. "Damn, Cross. Way to kill the vibe."
Ethan walked away before anyone could say anything else.
Vanessa hadn't said a word the entire time.
She sat at the end of the table, barely touching her food, her phone in her hand. Every so often, she'd glance up—at Marcus, at the others, at Ethan when he came by.
But she never spoke.
And Ethan told himself he didn't care.
Why would he? She was one of them. Born into money, surrounded by people who'd never known what it was like to choose between groceries and medical bills.
This morning's conversation in Computer Science felt like a lifetime ago.
You're smart. You don't have to downplay it.
Yeah, right.
She'd been polite. That's all it was. Politeness didn't mean anything when you were sitting at a table with people who thought his existence was a joke.
By 8:30, the group was on their third round of drinks. The noise level had increased, and Marcus had started getting handsy with Madison, his arm draped over her shoulder, his voice louder than necessary.
"Another round," he announced, raising his empty glass. "And Vanessa—V, come on. You've barely had anything."
Vanessa shook her head. "I'm good."
"You're no fun tonight." Marcus leaned across the table. "What's wrong? Worried Daddy's gonna find out you had a drink?"
"Leave her alone," Madison said, but she was smiling.
"I'm just saying—she's been weird all night."
"I'm fine," Vanessa said, her tone clipped. "Just tired."
"Then have a drink. It'll wake you up."
"I said I'm fine, Marcus."
"Come on, V—"
"She said no," Sophie interrupted. "Drop it."
Marcus held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Chill."
Ethan arrived with the next round of drinks, setting them down quickly. He didn't look at anyone.
But as he turned to leave, Marcus called out.
"Hey, Cross."
Ethan stopped. Turned. "Yes?"
"You go to Silverbrook, right?"
"Yes."
"Full ride scholarship?"
Ethan's hands curled into fists. "Yes."
"That's cool, man. Really cool." Marcus's grin was razor-sharp. "Must be nice, getting everything handed to you."
The table went quiet again.
Ethan stared at him. "Handed to me?"
"Yeah. I mean, free tuition, free housing. The rest of us have to pay for that stuff."
"With your parents' money," Ethan said flatly.
Blake whistled. "Ohhh, shots fired."
Marcus's grin faded slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Ethan said slowly, "that I work thirty hours a week on top of a full course load to support my family. So no, nothing's been handed to me."
The air felt electric.
Marcus opened his mouth—
"He's right."
Everyone turned.
Vanessa was looking directly at Marcus, her expression cold.
"What?" Marcus said.
"He's right. You don't know what you're talking about." Her voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "So maybe just... stop."
Marcus blinked. "V, I was just—"
"I know what you were doing." She stood abruptly, grabbing her purse. "I'm leaving."
"Wait, what? We just got here—"
"I have an early class tomorrow." She didn't look at anyone as she headed toward the door. "I'll see you guys later."
The table stared after her in stunned silence.
Then Madison laughed awkwardly. "Well. That was dramatic."
Marcus muttered something under his breath and drained his beer.
Ethan stood frozen, his heart pounding.
Vanessa Monroe had just defended him.
In front of everyone.