One Meal, Half a Million Debt

“It’s your dear Rachel who’s trying to squeeze money out of me.”

My expression hardened.

“Do you think my money is that easy to take?”

The tension grew thick. Other diners in the restaurant had noticed the conflict and were casting curious glances our way.

Rachel’s face flushed red, then white—clearly embarrassed.

She bit her lip and lowered her voice.

“Sophia Miller, do you really have to make this so ugly?”

“Which of my suggestions isn’t worth the price I asked?”

“Look at your restaurant: the music tastes cheap, the flow is a mess—only the décor is halfway decent.”

“If it weren’t for my promotion, do you think you’d have this much buzz today?”

The more she spoke, the more justified she seemed to feel, her voice rising.

“I gave you exposure, I gave you strategy. Charging you half a million was the friendship price!”

“Don’t be so ungrateful!”

I almost laughed in anger.

On opening day, the hype had been built with millions my father spent on city-wide promotion.

What did that have to do with her heavily Photoshopped selfies?

Eric chimed in as well.

“Sophia, Rachel’s right.”

“She’s a million-follower influencer now, with huge reach.”

“Think of it as a publicity fee. You’re not losing out.”

Looking at Eric’s insincere face, disgust churned in my stomach.

“Publicity fee?”

I pulled out my phone and opened Rachel’s Instagram, showing them her so-called “recommendation” post about my restaurant.

“The whole thing is just selfies of you. One blurry shot of the food, barely a mention of the atmosphere.”

“And at the end, you wrote: ‘Since it’s me, the owner should give you a discount.’”

“Rachel, you call that promotion?”

“You’re just turning me into the sucker who lets your fans freeload!”

Rachel’s expression soured.

She knew that was her style—always about how good she looked, not how good the restaurant was.

She hadn’t expected me to expose her in public.

“I…”

She faltered, speechless.

Eric quickly tried to smooth things over.

“Sophia, Rachel didn’t mean it that way.”

“She was just trying to help you.”

“Help me?” I sneered. “Was that like in high school, when she stole the design draft I spent three sleepless days on, entered the contest with it, won the prize, and then accused me of plagiarism?”

“Or like in college, when she dumped a whole pack of salt into my coffee before my competition, humiliating me in front of everyone and getting me disqualified?”

I stared at her paling face, a cold smile tugging at my lips.

I had kept track of every one of her dirty tricks.

Eric looked at Rachel, doubt creeping into his eyes.

“Sophia, is… is that true?”

Rachel panicked, clutching his arm.

“Eric, don’t listen to her! It’s all a misunderstanding!”

“We’ve always been best friends. How could I hurt her?”

“You know very well whether it’s true.”

I put away my phone and looked at them calmly.

“Tonight’s dinner: 1.28 million. Not a cent less.”

“You don’t have to pay.”

“But my lawyer will send you a letter—and while we’re at it, I’ll compile all your ‘glorious deeds’ into a collection.”

“Then I’ll send it to your million followers so they can see exactly what kind of person their idol really is.”

Rachel completely panicked.

What she cared most about was the carefully crafted image of being “graceful and talented.”