Zach strolled in, and the restaurant manager tipped his head with a respectful nod. “Would you folks like a private booth or a table in the main dining area?” he asked.


    “Private booth, please,”


    “The main area.”


    The first suggestion came from Zach, while Mirabe voiced the second


    The manager, catching the mismatched preferences, cleared his throat and said. “How about the main dining area? I just remembered that the prate boots aren’t quite ready yet.”


    The boss had made it clear: everything should cater to their yours back.


    Zach shot the manager a side–eye. If the private booths weren’t reach Way dù he offer them in the first ce? It was obvious his dad had been wistering sweet nothings to the staff behind the scenes. Didn’t they realize se right through them?


    Ever since Mirabe came back, the sons of the family had been bumped down E notch, even when it came to something as simple as getting a MR DER


    dinner!


    Zach decided he needed to have a very heartfelt chat with his de MOT AND dad. He was their flesh and blood, too. He deserved a interesect


    Pretending not to notice Zach’s re, the manager, al smies, les ne clearly focused on serving Mirabe. “This may please best read slipping up and addressing her by her title.


    He had to catch himself. His boss had warned hem tine and veri low–key and not to let slip any details of the farm NUSIKSSON IN ONdy. Although he didn’t understand me rationale. De mange bene


    secret thrill of it all. Watching the young git be QAMOUS TO DEAN family’s empire… was actually kind of engegn


    Hearing the manager’s near slip of the word “Move Wa momentarily puzzled. It seemed like every time m


    almost blurt out Madame.


    Weird guy. She touched the tip of her nose and followed behind him.


    As she walked away, two customers who had been turned away at the front desk for not having a reservation were clearly disgruntled. “Those two came in after us and didn’t have a reservation. Why do they get to go in?” oneined.


    “Exactly! Why do they get to choose between the main dining area and a private booth, and we don’t? Your restaurant’s staff really have selective vision, don’t they?” added the other.


    The receptionist, who had been wearing a ‘customer is king‘ smile, instantly dropped her grin upon hearing theirints. Why? Because those were the restaurant owner’s daughter and son.


    The receptionist didn’t bother to exin, simply responding with a detached, “Oh, we do have selective vision here. I suggest you find a restaurant that meets your standards.”


    The two customers‘ faces turned red with anger, and they stormed off, muttering under their breath.


    Although Mirabe was far off, her sharp ears caught the exchange at the front desk, and she couldn’t help feeling even more baffled by the odd treatment.


    Once seated, the manager personally brought over some lemonade, pouring for both before leaving with a deep bow. The respect was palpable.


    Elbows on the table and chin in her hands, Mirabe turned to Zach, “Zach, don’t you think the service here is a bit too… attentive?”


    Zach sipped his lemonade, set down the cup, and replied, “It’s normal, isn’t it? You do know this restaurant is part of our family’s holdings, right?”


    Hearing this, Mirabe’s expression froze, “What did you say? Could you repeat that? I must have misheard. Whose restaurant is this?”


    Zach’s mouth twitched. “This restaurant is part of The Davis family’s portfolio.”


    It echoed in her head, ‘part of The Davis family’s portfolio‘…


    Mirabe thought her ears were ying tricks on her.