"Is this seat taken?"


    I nced up from my menu to find a familiar face watching me. The years had been kind to Tristan Monroe—his suit was expensive, his haircut professionally styled. But his eyes were exactly the same as they''d been in college—cold and calcting.


    "It''s all yours," I replied, gesturing casually to the empty chair across from me.


    No.1 Restaurant buzzed with the quiet conversation of Havenwood City''s elite. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over white tablecloths and polished silverware. It wasn''t the kind of ce where I used to belong. But things had changed.


    Tristan lowered himself into the chair, studying me with undisguised contempt. "You know, I almost didn''t recognize you, Knight. You''re looking... different."


    "Time changes people," I said simply.


    "Not that much." His lips curled into a smirk. "Once a nobody, always a nobody."


    I took a sip of water, letting his words hang in the air between us. Five years ago, thatment would have cut deep. Now it barely registered.


    "What''s brought you to No.1, Tristan? I doubt it was the pleasure of mypany."


    He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You have something that belongs to me."


    "And what might that be?"


    "Respect." The word came out like a curse. "You disrespected me in front of my associates yesterday. I''m here for an apology."


    I raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you followed me here? For an apology?"


    "Don''t tter yourself. I have a business dinner upstairs." He gestured vaguely toward the private rooms. "Saw you sitting here alone, looking pathetic as usual. Thought I''d be generous and give you a chance to make things right."


    "Make things right," I repeated slowly. "Like you made things right when you stole my research paper in senior year? Or when you and your friends locked me in the maintenance closet for two days?"


    A sh of surprise crossed Tristan''s face. He hadn''t expected me to bring up the past so directly.


    "Ancient history," he said dismissively. "We were kids."


    "We were adults. You were just a bully."


    His expression hardened. "Careful, Knight. I''m not here for a trip down memoryne. I''m here for that apology."


    I set down my ss and looked him straight in the eye. "No."


    "Excuse me?"


    "No," I repeated. "I won''t apologize to you. Not today. Not ever."


    Color flooded Tristan''s face. "You think you''re somebody now? Because you''ve got a nice shirt and you''re eating at a fancy restaurant? You''re still nothing."


    "If I''m nothing, why do you need my apology so badly?"


    That hit a nerve. Tristan pushed back his chair and stood up, looming over me. "Get up."


    "Why?"


    "Get up," he repeated, clenching his fists. "Or I''ll make you get up."


    Several nearby diners turned to stare. A waiter hovered uncertainly nearby, clearly debating whether to intervene.


    I remained seated, calm and unruffled. "You''re making a scene, Tristan."


    "I don''t give a damn." He reached down and grabbed my cor. "Get up, you little—"


    My hand shot out, gripping his wrist with enough force to make him gasp. In one fluid motion, I twisted his arm behind his back and leveraged him face-first onto the table. China rattled and water sses toppled.


    "The first lesson," I said quietly into his ear, "is that I''m not the same person you knew."


    I released him and stepped back. Tristan straightened up, his face flushed with rage and humiliation.


    "You''ll regret that," he snarled, lunging at me.


    I sidestepped his attack with ease, watching as he stumbled. Before he could recover, I swept his legs out from under him. He hit the floor hard, the breath knocked from his lungs.


    The restaurant had gonepletely silent. All eyes were on us.


    "The second lesson," I continued, standing over him, "is that actions have consequences."


    Tristan scrambled to his feet, eyes wild with fury. "You think you can embarrass me like this?"


    "You embarrassed yourself. I''m just finishing what you started."


    He charged again. This time, I didn''t hold back. I caught his outstretched arm, twisted, and drove my palm into his elbow joint. The crack echoed through the silent restaurant.


    Tristan howled in pain, dropping to one knee.


    "Perfect," I said. "That''s exactly where you belong. Kneeling."


    "You broke my arm," he gasped, cradling the injured limb.


    "I dislocated it. There''s a difference." I circled him slowly. "Do you remember what you used to say to me? ''Kneel and beg, schrship trash.'' Every Thursday for an entire semester."


    Sweat beaded on Tristan''s forehead. "That was years ago."


    "Yes, it was. And I''ve had a lot of time to think about it." I stopped directly in front of him. "Kneel properly."


    "Go to hell."


    I sighed and reached for his injured arm. He flinched away.


    "Wait! Just... wait." Fear had reced anger in his eyes. He slowly lowered himself until both knees touched the floor.


    "Now repeat after me: I, Tristan Monroe, repent for my actions."


    His face darkened with hatred. "You can''t be serious."


    "I, Tristan Monroe," I prompted again, my voice hard as steel.


    "I, Tristan Monroe," he muttered through gritted teeth, "repent for my actions."


    "And I swear to never bully or harass another person as long as I live."


    He red up at me. "And I swear to never bully or harass another person as long as I live."


    "Very good." I stepped back. "You may rise."


    Before he could move, the door to the private dining area burst open. Cody Ross rushed in, his eyes widening at the scene before him.


    "Tristan! What the hell happened?" He hurried to his friend''s side, then froze when he saw me. "Liam? You did this?"


    "Your friend needed a lesson in humility," I replied calmly. "Feel free to join him."


    Cody''s face paled. "What?"


    "Kneel," I said simply.


    "Don''t you dare," Tristan hissed at Cody. "Call Jordan. NOW."


    Cody hesitated, looking between us with growing panic. Then, to Tristan''s visible shock, he slowly lowered himself to one knee.


    "Both knees," I instructed.


    Codyplied, his face burning with shame.


    "You goddamn coward," Tristan spat at him.


    "He''s just smarter than you," I observed. "He recognizes when he''s outmatched."


    Tristan pulled out his phone with his good hand. "You''ve lost your mind, Knight. My bro runs Lancaster Real Estate. When he hears about this—"


    "By all means," I said, gesturing to the phone. "Call him."


    Tristan''s fingers flew across the screen. "Get over here now," he barked into the phone. "Some waiter is causing trouble. No, he''s not from Veridia. Just some nobody who needs to be taught a lesson." He hung up with a triumphant smirk. "You''re dead, Knight. My boys will be here in two minutes." <strong ss="phantom-imprint">Br%ou%g*ht to you by the f*o.l@ks at *@.</strong>


    True to his word, the private dining room door opened again. Six burly men filed in, led by a tall figure with a gold chain glinting at his neck.


    "That''s him," Tristan pointed at me. "The one who assaulted me."


    Gold Chain sized me up with practiced ease. "This is the guy causing trouble? Doesn''t look like much."


    "Trust me," Tristan said, struggling to his feet. "He''s nobody important."


    "That so?" Gold Chain cracked his knuckles. "Well, Mr. Nobody, you picked the wrong crowd to mess with. Boys, teach him some manners."


    The men spread out, forming a loose semicircle around me. I remained perfectly still, watching as they advanced. Five years ago, this scene would have ended with me bloody and broken on the floor. Not anymore.


    Just as the first man reached for me, a familiar voice cut through the tension.


    "STOP!"


    Everyone froze. Jordan Lancaster himself stood in the doorway, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.


    "Mr. Lancaster," Gold Chain began, "we were just—"


    "Get away from him," Jordan ordered, pushing past his men. "All of you, stand down. Now!"


    The confusion was palpable. Tristan stared as Jordan hurried to my side.


    "Mr. Knight," Jordan said, his voice filled with concern, "are you all right? Has anyone touched you?"


    The silence that followed was absolute. Every eye in the room fixed on us in disbelief.