Chapter 1
1455 Words
Ethan's POV
I wiped the sweat from my brow, balancing a tray of overpriced appetizers as I weaved through the maze of tables. Another Friday evening at Royal Restaurant, the rich came to flaunt their wealth, and I scraped together enough cash to keep my girlfriend, Tiffany, from dumping me for the next guy with a fatter wallet.
"Order up, table eight!" Chef bellowed from the kitchen.
I sighed, glancing at my watch. Only four more hours until I could escape this bowtie-choking hellscape and pick up Tiffany's birthday gift. The thought of her smile almost made this job bearable. Almost.
Let me tell you, being a college student these days is like trying to juggle flaming chainsaws while riding a unicycle. On a tightrope. Over a pit of hungry alligators. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but only slightly.
My name's Ethan, and I'm your average, sleep-deprived, caffeine-fueled student trying to keep my head above water in a sea of student loans and part-time jobs. Oh, and did I mention my girlfriend, Tiffany? She's got champagne taste on my beer budget, but what can I say? Love makes fools of us all.
So here I am, working my third job of the week at Royal Restaurant, where the silverware costs more than my textbooks. Between this gig, my barista shifts at the campus coffee shop, and my weekend lawn-mowing business, I barely keep up with my classes. But hey, those student loans aren't gonna pay themselves, right?
And then there's Tiffany. Don't get me wrong, I love her to pieces, but sometimes I wonder if she loves my wallet more than me. Her birthday's today, and I've been saving for weeks to buy her the designer handbag she's been eyeing. It will cost me a kidney, but the things we do for love.
"Ethan, table eight's order is getting cold!" the chef's voice boomed from the kitchen, snapping me out of my pity party.
"Coming, Chef!" I called back, plastering on my best 'I'm-totally-not-dying-inside' smile.
I hustled to the kitchen, where Chef – a man whose temper was as hot as his famous five-alarm chili – thrust a tray of steaming plates at me.
"Table eight," he growled.
Balancing the tray like a circus performer, I navigated through the dining room, dodging elbows and designer handbags. Table eight came into view—a group of suits who looked like they had eaten $100 bills for breakfast.
"Gentlemen," I said, approaching with what I hoped was grace and not abject terror. "Your meals."
I set down the plates, reciting the dishes like a well-rehearsed Shakespeare monologue. "The pan-seared foie gras with truffle reduction for you, sir. And the Wagyu beef tartare for you..."
As I served, I thought about how one of these meals could probably cover a month's worth of ramen noodles – my current dietary staple. But hey, a guy can dream, right?
With the plates delivered and no disasters in sight, I retreated to my station. Already, I was dreaming of clocking out, receiving my paycheck, and heading to the mall. Tiffany's gift was waiting there, with the promise of her dazzling smile.
I was just about to retreat to my little corner of sanity when the hostess's voice chirped through my earpiece. "Ethan, we've got a walk-in. Table for two in your section."
Great. Just what I needed – more rich folks to serve. I plastered on my best smile and headed to the entrance.
"Welcome to Royal Restaurant, where every meal is fit for—" The words died in my throat as I locked eyes with the last person I expected to see. Tiffany.
My girlfriend stood there, looking like she'd just stepped off a runway. But that wasn't what made my heart drop into my polished shoes. No, it was the guy next to her – his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.
I blinked, hoping this was just some caffeine-induced hallucination. But nope, there she was, Tiffany in all her glory, hanging off the arm of Daniel, the wealthy heir who had always been the talk of our school. He was the kind of guy who never had to worry about anything—his life was a constant stream of luxury cars, designer clothes, and extravagant parties.
Everyone knew Daniel; his reputation preceded him wherever he went. And now, he was standing with my girlfriend, his arm draped around her like she was just one of his possessions.
"Ethan?" Tiffany's voice cut through my shock like a diamond through glass. "What are you doing here?"
I stood there, mouth agape, feeling like I'd just been sucker-punched by reality. The fancy menu in my hand suddenly felt as heavy as my sinking heart.
"I, uh... I work here," I stammered, my voice barely audible over the clinking cutlery and pretentious chatter.
"You work here? As what, the dishwasher?"
"I'm a waiter," I replied, trying to muster some dignity. "You know, to pay for things like... oh, I don't know... your birthday gift?"
Daniel chuckled. "Oh, how quaint. Tiffany, darling, you never told me your ex was so... industrious."
Ex? Did I miss something?
"Ex?" I echoed, my voice cracking. "Tiffany, what's going on?"
She sighed, rolling her eyes like I'd just asked her to explain quantum physics to a goldfish. "Oh, Ethan. Don't make this more awkward than it needs to be. I thought it was obvious."
"Obvious?" I sputtered. "What's obvious is that I'm standing here in a monkey suit, serving overpriced food to people who probably use hundred-dollar bills as toilet paper while you're out on a date with Mr. Moneybags here!"
Daniel smirked, pulling Tiffany closer. "Now, now, there's no need for name-calling. I prefer 'financially gifted'."
I felt my blood begin to boil. All those late nights, all those extra shifts, all for what? So Tiffany could trade me in for a newer model with a bigger... bank account?
"You know what?" I said, my voice rising. "I've been busting my ass, working three jobs, just to keep up with your champagne tastes. And this is how you repay me? By sneaking around behind my back?"
Tiffany's face hardened, her eyes cold as the ice in the pricey drinks I'd been serving. "Oh, please. Don't act so surprised, Ethan. If you hadn't been so willing to play the part of my personal servant all this time, I would never have dated you in the first place."
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks... or a ton of the fancy imported marble that probably lined Daniel's bathroom floors.
"Servant?" I repeated, disbelief and anger rising. "Is that all I was to you? Some kind of ATM with legs?"
She laughed, a sound that used to make my heart skip a beat but now just made my stomach churn. "Oh, Ethan. You're not nearly reliable enough to be an ATM. You're more like... a piggy bank—one that I've finally decided to break open and upgrade."
That's when I snapped. All the frustration, sleepless nights, and times I'd chosen her over my own needs came bubbling to the surface like an overshaken champagne bottle.
"You know what, Tiffany? Do you want to break up? Fine. Consider us officially over. I hope you and Richie Rich here have a wonderful life together. Maybe he can buy you a personality to go with those designer shoes!"
I felt pride at my comeback, but it was short-lived. Tiffany's eyes narrowed, and before I could react, she reached out and snatched a glass of water from a passing waiter's tray.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" she hissed. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she threw the glass contents in my face.
I spluttered, water dripping from my nose and chin, soaking into my pristine white shirt.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Tiffany announced, her voice carrying across the now-silent restaurant. "I'd like you all to meet Ethan, my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. He's the perfect example of why you should never date below your tax bracket."
My cheeks burned as every eye turned to stare at me. I could practically hear the sound of a dozen rich people clutching their pearls.
"You see," Tiffany said, relishing her audience, "Ethan here thought he could win me over with his charm and minimum-wage paychecks. Isn't that adorable?"
Daniel laughed, his arm still wrapped around Tiffany's waist. "Darling, perhaps we should order. I hear the lobster here is exquisite. Though I doubt our friend Ethan has ever tasted it. Unless, of course, he's been sneaking bites from the kitchen trash."
The restaurant erupted in laughter. I stood there, dripping and humiliated, feeling like the world's most pathetic exhibition at a very posh zoo.
- Writer
