Philippe blinked. “Madame… you want to pay for them?”
“Yes,” I said. “But here’s the operational detail.”
I leaned in.
“Wait until they finish. When they’re relaxed. When they think they’ve gotten away with it.”
“Then bring the check… and tell them it’s already been paid by Mrs. Adrien Foster — the pregnant wife.”
Philippe’s eyes flicked to my belly and back to my face.
Then he nodded once.
That’s when I added the second instruction — the one that turned a private betrayal into a public collapse.
Read what I put on his corporate card — and why the whole restaurant became witnesses ⬇️⬇️⬇️
