“It’s not an accusation,” I say. “It’s the truth.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Lark.”
“No,” I say calmly. “You are. I’m just finally calling your bluff.”
He leans in, his smile all teeth. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“Neither do you,” I say, lifting my phone off the table and meeting his eyes. “I’ve kept records. Dates, transactions, witness statements. Every time you’ve been here, every time you’ve made a threat or hinted at that shiny new bakery you want to open across the street. It’s all documented.”
Tate’s face has gone quiet, his mouth a tight line.
“I don’t want a fight,” I say, honest now. “I just want my diner back. My life back. So here’s your chance to walk away before this gets messy. Or I will blast this shit all over town and it’ll come back to bite you in the fucking ass.”
He looks at me for a long moment, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m bluffing. Like he’s trying to see if I really have what I claim. I don’t give him anything.
“Who’s feeding you this?” he asks finally. “You’re a waitress, not a damn detective.”
“I’m a business owner,” I correct him. “And I’m done letting men like you make me feel small.”
He doesn’t answer. Just sits there, blinking at me like I’ve morphed into something he doesn’t know how to deal with.
Good.
“You thought I wouldn’t notice,” I say. “You thought if you were polite enough, if you called me sweetheart and smiled at the right time, I’d handyou the Bluebell without asking why.”
His jaw flexes and he lets out a long, exasperated sigh. But he doesn’t deny it.
“You thought I wouldn’t fight. That I couldn’t. Because I’m a woman. Because I run a diner instead of a bank or a law firm. Because I show up in an apron and not a fucking suit.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table between us.
“You looked at me and you thought it’d be easy.”
My voice doesn’t shake. It used to, when I tried to stand up for myself. But this is something different. This is steel, forged slow over years of being underestimated.
“You saw a single mom barely holding it together after a rough winter,” I say, voice even. “Someone stretched thin, with a kid to feed and too much pride to ask for help. You figured I wouldn’t have it in me to push back.”
He starts to say something, but I raise a hand.
“You don’t get to talk yet.”
His mouth snaps shut, his eyes narrowing.
“If I were a man, you’d have called first. Maybe even shown up in a suit with a number in your head and a deal on the table. You would’ve treated me like someone worth sitting down with. Someone who had something you couldn’t just take.”
I shake my head once, steady.
“But I’m not. I’m a woman who runs a diner and bakes pies and tucks her kid into bed at night. And somehow, that made me small to you. Easy. But you underestimated the wrong person.”
My hands press flat against the table.
“I want you to sit with the reality of who you messed with. You didn’t try to fuck over some clueless business owner. You came after a woman who has already survived more than you’ll ever have to. You came after a mother. We bend. We stretch. We get real damn creative. And we carry what needs carrying and then some.”
I take a breath and hold his eyes.
“You should’ve known better. You made a game out of my life, my son’sfuture, the thing my family’s built with their own two hands.”
He blinks. For the first time since he sat down, he looks uncomfortable. His fingers curl slightly, the only sign he’s not in control anymore. I let the silence hang, let the tension thicken between us.
