Meilani's Scheme Exposed

The soft chime of my email notification cut through the afternoon quiet of the office. I glanced at my screen, expecting another routine assignment or company update. Instead, Wells's name appeared in my inbox.

*Would you like to join me for lunch? La Bernardin, 1 PM. - W*

My heart skipped a beat. La Bernardin was the kind of restaurant where reservations were made months in advance, where business deals worth millions were sealed over perfectly prepared seafood. It wasn't the kind of place where CEOs took their intern adoptive sisters for casual meals.

I typed back quickly: *Of course. Thank you.*

The response came almost immediately: *See you there.*

I stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest. This was just Wells being protective, making sure I was handling Meilani's harassment well. Nothing more.

La Bernardin's interior was exactly as elegant as I'd imagined—soft lighting, pristine white tablecloths, and the kind of hushed atmosphere that spoke of serious money and serious conversations. The maître d' led me to a corner table where Wells was already seated, his dark suit impeccable as always.

He stood as I approached, and something in my chest tightened at the familiar gesture. Wells had always been a gentleman, but there was something different about the way he moved around me lately—more careful, more deliberate.

"Astrid." His voice was warm as he pulled out my chair, his hand briefly touching my shoulder as I sat. "You look beautiful."

The compliment caught me off guard. Wells had called me beautiful before, but usually in the casual way brothers compliment their sisters. This felt different somehow, more weighted.

"Thank you," I managed, smoothing my skirt as he returned to his seat. "This place is incredible."

"I thought you might like it." He opened the wine menu, his eyes scanning the options with practiced ease. "The lobster here is exceptional. And I remember you mentioning you wanted to try their signature tasting menu."

I had mentioned that—months ago, in passing, during one of our family dinners. The fact that he remembered made my pulse quicken in a way I tried desperately to ignore.

Wells ordered for both of us with the confidence of someone accustomed to the finer things, but his attention never wavered from me. He asked about my work, listened intently to my answers, and when the sommelier brought our wine, he raised his glass in a small toast.

"To my brilliant sister," he said, but something in his eyes made the word 'sister' sound almost like a question.

We were halfway through the second course when I spotted a familiar figure near the entrance. Meilani stood at the hostess station, her red dress—the same one she'd claimed to wear to her fictional dinner with Wells—bright as a warning flag.

"Well, well," I murmured, nodding toward the entrance. "Looks like we have company."

Wells followed my gaze, and his expression immediately cooled. "How convenient."

Meilani spotted us within seconds, her face lighting up with what she probably thought was surprised delight. She said something to the hostess, gesturing in our direction, and moments later was being led toward our table.

"Wells!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying across the quiet restaurant. "What a wonderful surprise! And Astrid, how lovely to see you here."

The way she said my name made it sound like an afterthought, a minor inconvenience she had to acknowledge.

"Meilani," Wells replied, his tone politely neutral. He didn't stand, didn't invite her to join us, didn't even look particularly pleased to see her.

"I was just meeting a client here," she continued, her smile never wavering. "Such a coincidence that you'd be here too. This is one of your favorite places, isn't it? You mentioned how much you love their wine selection."

I nearly choked on my water. Wells rarely drank wine, preferring whiskey or beer. But Meilani pressed on, apparently oblivious to his complete lack of enthusiasm for her presence.

"Perhaps I could join you for dessert?" she suggested, already reaching for an empty chair at a nearby table. "I'd love to hear more about that project we discussed."

"I'm afraid we haven't discussed any projects," Wells said calmly, cutting into his fish with surgical precision. "And we have private family matters to discuss."

The word 'family' hit Meilani like a physical blow. Her smile faltered for just a moment before snapping back into place.

"Of course," she said, her voice a little too bright. "Well, enjoy your... family lunch."

She retreated to a table across the restaurant, but I could feel her eyes on us for the remainder of our meal. Wells seemed completely unbothered, continuing our conversation as if we hadn't been interrupted at all.

It wasn't until later that evening, when I was working late to catch up on the assignments Meilani had piled on me, that I discovered the real reason for her restaurant appearance.

The office was nearly empty, just a few dedicated souls burning the midnight oil. I'd been working for hours, my eyes burning from staring at spreadsheets, when I realized I'd left some important files in Sutton Davis's office. He'd mentioned earlier that he'd be staying late too, so I figured I'd just knock and ask for them.

But as I approached his office, I heard voices—low, intimate, unmistakably heated. The door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, I caught a glimpse that made me freeze in place.

Meilani was pressed against Sutton's desk, her red dress—the same one from the restaurant—hiked up around her thighs. Sutton's hands were tangled in her hair, his mouth on her neck, and the sounds they were making left no doubt about the nature of their relationship.

"We have to be more careful," Sutton was murmuring against her skin. "If anyone finds out..."

"No one will," Meilani breathed back, her fingers working at his shirt buttons. "Besides, it's not like I'm actually involved with anyone else. That whole Wells thing is just... window dressing."

I backed away from the door as quietly as possible, my heart hammering in my chest. So this was Meilani's real relationship—not with Wells, but with a married department manager who could help advance her career. The elaborate stories, the restaurant stalking, the desperate attempts to insert herself into our lunch—all of it was a carefully constructed lie.

As I made my way back to my desk, a new understanding settled over me. Meilani wasn't just delusional about Wells—she was actively deceiving everyone, including the man she was actually sleeping with. And if she was willing to lie about something this significant, what else was she capable of?

I had a feeling I was about to find out.