“What are you going to do now, Charles?” a voice piped up from a nearby table. It was an older gentleman, one of the regulars who had watched the interaction unfold. His tone was light but carried an edge, hinting at a shared disdain for the billionaire’s behavior.

Charles cast a glance around the room, suddenly aware of the eyes upon him. Pride and ego battled within him, but something else stirred—an unfamiliar sensation that felt almost like shame. He was not used to being challenged, especially not in public.

Amara, sensing a shift, decided to speak again. “Mr. Whitmore, I understand accidents happen. A splash of wine is unfortunate, but it’s just that—an accident. My job is to serve, not to be subservient. I respect myself too much to kneel just because someone demands it.”