“Don’t be dramatic.”

A calm voice interrupted our argument.

“Madam, I’m the restaurant manager.

My name is Gregory.”

He stood beside the waiter, a tall man with silver hair at his temples and a professional expression that softened when he saw my ruined dress.

“Would you like to step into a private room?”

“Not yet,” I answered.

“I’d like the security footage preserved, and I need the police called.”

Spencer stood up immediately.

“Absolutely not.

This is a private family disagreement.”

Gregory ignored him completely.

“Madam, are you injured?”

“My face stings, I’m frightened, and I want to make an official report,” I replied.