"Starting trouble at Aroma Exchange? Do you have a death wish?"

A sharp, commanding voice sliced through the room. Striding in at the center of a group of men in fitted black suits was a tall woman in a crimson designer dress, a lit cigarette delicately balanced between her fingers. Her wavy hair and cold expression made her presence impossible to ignore.

Behind her, the men stood like trained operatives—buzz cuts, sharp eyes, and temple veins slightly bulging—the kind of guys you just knew were professionals.

Seth pointed at Andrew and barked, "Ms. Sinclair, I know the restaurant's rules! But I'm not the one who started anything—it was him, this crazy bastard! Just look at me! He beat me like an animal!"

Ruth Sinclair's gaze darkened as she turned toward Andrew. "So you're the one who smashed Mr. Haywood's head open?"

Before Andrew could respond, Aspen stepped in. "Ms. Sinclair, we were just having dinner when Seth barged into our private room and disrupted everything. As pe