The moment Julian caught sight of Marcus standing in the reception area without a reservation card in hand or a chauffeur at his heel, his face contorted into open disdain.
"Can I help you?" Julian asked, his voice dripping with condescension as he stepped into Marcus’s path.
"Good evening. I’d like a table for one, please," Marcus replied evenly.
"We are fully booked," Julian sneered, not bothering to glance at the reservation screen. "And even if we had an opening, our dress code demands appropriate standards. This isn't a casual diner."
"The lobby policy clearly states smart-casual attire is welcome before nine," Marcus noted calmly. "I simply wish to inspect the evening service and have dinner."
Julian took a step forward, his chest puffing out beneath his tailored black vest. His voice spiked, deliberately drawing the attention of neighboring tables. "Listen to me closely. You don't belong in a venue like this. Walk back out those doors before I have you escorted out in handcuffs."
When Marcus remained unmoved, Julian snapped his fingers at the security desk and dialed the local precinct detail stationed on the boulevard.
Within minutes, red and blue strobe lights painted the glass facade. Two armed police officers pushed through the entrance, flanking Julian as diners pulled out their phones, murmuring and recording the unfolding spectacle.
Chapter III: The Point of No Return
Julian felt invincible with the police at his back and the room’s eyes upon him. He closed the distance, thrusting a finger inches from Marcus’s face, his spit flying under the glare of the chandelier.