Once we sat down, things got worse.
They didn’t browse the menu.
They attacked it.
Premium steaks.
Seafood platters.
Extra sides.
Bottles instead of glasses.
I tried catching my girlfriend’s eye.
A subtle shake of my head.
A silent please stop this.
She didn’t even look at me.
By the time dessert menus came out, my chest felt tight.
Then the bill hit the table.
$400.
My girlfriend looked at me like this was always the plan.
When I said I wasn’t paying for everyone, her expression flipped instantly—from surprise to anger.
She insisted.
Her family stared.
The table went dead silent.
And that’s when it clicked.
They weren’t there to meet me.
They were there to eat.
As the tension built, the waiter walked past and discreetly slid a folded note onto the table.
I opened it under my napkin.
“She’s not who she says she is.”
My heart started pounding.
I excused myself to the bathroom. Inside, I waved the waiter over. He lowered his voice and said he’d seen this before.
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