“It’s your dear Rachel who’s trying to squeeze money out of me.”

My expression hardened.

“Do you think my money is that easy to take?”

The tension grew thick. Other diners in the restaurant had noticed the conflict and were casting curious glances our way.

Rachel’s face flushed red, then white—clearly embarrassed.

She bit her lip and lowered her voice.

“Sophia Miller, do you really have to make this so ugly?”

“Which of my suggestions isn’t worth the price I asked?”

“Look at your restaurant: the music tastes cheap, the flow is a mess—only the décor is halfway decent.”

“If it weren’t for my promotion, do you think you’d have this much buzz today?”

The more she spoke, the more justified she seemed to feel, her voice rising.

“I gave you exposure, I gave you strategy. Charging you half a million was the friendship price!”

“Don’t be so ungrateful!”

I almost laughed in anger.

On opening day, the hype had been built with millions my father spent on city-wide promotion.

What did that have to do with her heavily Photoshopped selfies?

Eric chimed in as well.

“Sophia, Rachel’s right.”

“She’s a million-follower influencer now, with huge reach.”

“Think of it as a publicity fee. You’re not losing out.”

Looking at Eric’s insincere face, disgust churned in my stomach.

“Publicity fee?”

I pulled out my phone and opened Rachel’s Instagram, showing them her so-called “recommendation” post about my restaurant.

“The whole thing is just selfies of you. One blurry shot of the food, barely a mention of the atmosphere.”

“And at the end, you wrote: ‘Since it’s me, the owner should give you a discount.’”

“Rachel, you call that promotion?”

“You’re just turning me into the sucker who lets your fans freeload!”

Rachel’s expression soured.

She knew that was her style—always about how good she looked, not how good the restaurant was.

She hadn’t expected me to expose her in public.

“I…”

She faltered, speechless.

Eric quickly tried to smooth things over.

“Sophia, Rachel didn’t mean it that way.”

“She was just trying to help you.”

“Help me?” I sneered. “Was that like in high school, when she stole the design draft I spent three sleepless days on, entered the contest with it, won the prize, and then accused me of plagiarism?”

“Or like in college, when she dumped a whole pack of salt into my coffee before my competition, humiliating me in front of everyone and getting me disqualified?”

I stared at her paling face, a cold smile tugging at my lips.

I had kept track of every one of her dirty tricks.

Eric looked at Rachel, doubt creeping into his eyes.

“Sophia, is… is that true?”

Rachel panicked, clutching his arm.

“Eric, don’t listen to her! It’s all a misunderstanding!”

“We’ve always been best friends. How could I hurt her?”

“You know very well whether it’s true.”

I put away my phone and looked at them calmly.

“Tonight’s dinner: 1.28 million. Not a cent less.”

“You don’t have to pay.”

“But my lawyer will send you a letter—and while we’re at it, I’ll compile all your ‘glorious deeds’ into a collection.”

“Then I’ll send it to your million followers so they can see exactly what kind of person their idol really is.”

Rachel completely panicked.

What she cared most about was the carefully crafted image of being “graceful and talented.”

If this dirt got out, she’d be finished.

“No!” she screamed, tears falling instantly.

“Sophia, I was wrong! I really was wrong!”

“Please forgive me just this once!”

She turned to Eric, crying piteously.

“Eric, please beg Sophia for me!”

“With our years of friendship, she won’t do this to me!”

Eric was clearly shaken by what I’d said.

He looked from me to Rachel, his face torn.

“Sophia, could this all be a misunderstanding?”

“Rachel’s not that kind of person.”

I looked at him, chilled to the bone.

Even now, he was defending her.

“I’ll give her ten minutes.”

“Either she pays, or she waits for the lawyer’s letter and public disgrace.”

I said no more and walked straight to the bar.

The restaurant manager approached cautiously.

“Miss Miller, should we call the police?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Let’s just watch.”

Ten minutes felt like an eternity.

Rachel’s sobbing dwindled into sniffles.

She and Eric argued heatedly in the corner.

I could see Eric’s face grow more impatient while Rachel looked increasingly desperate.

Finally, Eric stormed over, face dark.

He pulled a Black Card from his wallet and slapped it on the counter.

“Charge it.”

His voice dripped with suppressed fury.

“The password is six eights.”

Swipe. Signature.

Just like that, 1.28 million was gone from his card.

I picked up the receipt.

“Mr. Johnson, take care. I won’t see you out.”

Eric gave me a long, deep look.

Then he turned and walked straight out, ignoring Rachel still sitting frozen at the table.

Rachel scrambled up, wiping her tears, and stumbled after him.

“Eric, wait for me! Eric!”

The farce was finally over.

Peace returned to the restaurant as the soft music played again.

The manager came over nervously.

“Miss Miller, about that bottle of wine…”

“Put it on my tab,” I said calmly.

I had indeed ordered that bottle.

But not for Rachel.

I opened it to celebrate finally seeing through the two of them—and deciding to cut ties for good.

My father was right.

Trash belongs in the trash bin.

Only when it’s cleared out can life feel clean again.

I thought that would be the end of it.

But the next day, Eric actually came to my company.

He looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot.

“Sophia, let’s talk.”

I told my secretary not to bother with tea and had him brought straight into my office.

“Talk about what?”

“How you helped someone else scam me, or how much you got swindled out of?”

My tone was ice-cold.

A flicker of shame crossed his face.

“Yesterday was Rachel’s fault. I already scolded her.”

“She was just swept up by all the fan attention.”

“She knows she was wrong. About the money… can you maybe…”

“No.” I cut him off flatly.

“Eric, you came here just to beg me to return her money?”

“I wasn’t…” he rushed to explain. “I’m worried about you.”

“Sophia, I know you have issues with Rachel because of the past, but you can’t handle it this way…”