In the restaurant, everyone raised a glass of juice to Grace, congratulating her on her promotion.
The four of them chatted for a while longer.
Most of the conversation was between Nydia and Grace, with Nydia treating Grace like an old friend and venting freely about Linda, as if finally getting her chance to speak her mind.
“Don’t you dare repeat any of this,” Nydia whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. “I still have to work under her, you know.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t hear a thing,” Martin replied with a grin. “You two carry on—I’ll take care of slicing the steaks.”
He slipped seamlessly into the role of their table’s unofficial waiter, occasionally joining in the conversation, but mostly focused on carefully cutting steaks for the three women.
With a knife in one hand and a fork in the other, Martin’s movements were graceful and precise—almost mesmerizing to watch.
“Ms. Grace, here’s your sirloin. Careful, it’s hot,” he said, sliding the plate toward her.
“Thank you, Mr. Powell. You’re just too thoughtful,” Grace replied warmly, accepting the plate with both hands.
“I can manage mine, thanks,” Yvonne said politely, not used to being fussed over like this. She gently declined as Martin set her steak within reach.
“It’s really no trouble—the plate’s hot, I’d hate for you to burn your hands,” Martin insisted, smiling.
“Oh, don’t mind him. He just likes cutting steaks for people,” Nydia teased. “The pasta’s amazing, too. You should try some.”
Unable to resist Nydia’s enthusiasm, Yvonne set down her utensils and gave in. “Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Powell.”
“It’s no trouble at all.”
Yvonne glanced at Grace’s plate—every slice of steak was perfectly uniform, not a piece out of place. Clearly, Martin was not only considerate, but something of a perfectionist.
With effortless elegance, Martin always started cutting from the left side of the steak, moving inward, securing the meat with his fork before slicing off neat, bite-sized pieces. Once finished, he arranged the pieces beautifully on the plate, making the meal look even more appetizing.
“All done,” Martin announced, sliding the neatly cut steak toward Yvonne.
“Thanks,” Yvonne began, reaching for her plate—when suddenly she felt a sharp, icy gaze fixed on her.
She looked up instinctively, her eyes widening as she locked eyes with a pair of intense, jet-black eyes.

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