The Waitress With a PhD Who Silenced a Arrogant And Rude Billionaire
Chapter 8
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She cleared his table, collected the money, and felt something inside her crack just a little bit more.On the bus ride home, Camille stared out the window at the bright city lights. She thought about Paris, about walking along the Seine on warm evenings, about discussing Voltaire and Proust with professors who treated her like an equal. That life felt like a story she'd read once, not something she'd actually lived.When she got home, her mother was already asleep in her blue chair, the television playing softly. Camille turned it off, helped Gloria to bed, and then sat alone in the dark living room.Her phone buzzed: a text from Bethany.You okay? That guy's a monster.Camille typed back:I'm fine. See you tomorrow.But she wasn't fine. She was disappearing piece by piece, day by day. The scholar was becoming a ghost. The woman who had once believed in herself was fading into someone who just survived. And Theodore Lancaster, with his perfect suits and cruel German words, was speeding up the process.Camille closed her eyes and made herself a promise: she would endure this. She would survive. For her mother, she would smile and serve and swallow her pride, because love meant sacrifice, because family came first, because sometimes the only choice was to keep going.But in the quiet of her heart, where no one could hear, she screamed.Three weeks passed, and Theodore Lancaster became a fixture at table seven. He came every Tuesday and Thursday evening, always requesting Camille's section, always speaking only in German. His cruelty had a rhythm now, predictable as a metronome: he would arrive at 7:00, order expensive wine, make comments in German about her intelligence or appearance or worth, eat his meal slowly, and leave an insulting tip.And Camille served him with the same calm grace she showed every customer, her true feelings buried so deep even she sometimes forgot they were there.It was a Thursday evening in late September when things began to shift, though Camille didn't realize it at first. The Sterling Oak was busy, every table full, the bright chandeliers casting their glow over well-dressed diners. Theodore arrived precisely at 7:00, as always. But this time, three business associates accompanied him: two men and a woman, all wearing expensive suits and carrying the same air of self-importance Theodore wore like cologne.Mrs. Patterson seated them at table seven. Camille took a breath and approached. "Good evening. Can I start you with drinks?"Theodore barely glanced at her. "Ja, natürlich. Bringen Sie uns eine Flasche von Ihrem besten Champagner." Yes, of course. Bring us a bottle of your best champagne.One of the men, younger than Theodore with slicked-back hair, looked confused. "Why are you speaking German?""For entertainment," Theodore replied in English, then switched back to German. "Die Kellnerin versteht kein Wort. Beobachten Sie." The waitress doesn't understand a word. Watch. He turned to Camille. "Wissen Sie, ich spreche über Sie, als wären Sie unsichtbar. Weil Sie für uns tatsächlich unsichtbar sind." You know I'm speaking about you as if you're invisible, because you actually are invisible to us.