CHAPTER 16: DEMENTED WAITRESS

Aiden’s POV:

I sat at the table, already regretting stepping into this diner. The air smelled faintly of grease, and the chatter of patrons grated on my nerves. I looked down at the steaming cup of coffee in front of me, hoping it would be decent enough to salvage this experience. One sip, and I grimaced. Bitter. Overheated. Completely unacceptable.

I waved the waitress over, watching her approach with an expression that could only be described as "done with the world."

"This is too hot," I said, placing the cup back on the table with a deliberate clink.

She didn’t even blink, her overly cheerful mask still firmly in place. "It’s coffee. It’s supposed to be hot."

I stared at her, incredulous. Did she know who I was? "Do you have ice?"

Her smile tightened, and her eyes practically rolled without moving. "We do," she said through gritted teeth.

"Well, go get some," I said, leaning back in my chair. Her entire demeanor was infuriating, like I was just some random guy inconveniencing her instead of someone she should be scrambling to accommodate.

She turned with a sarcastic "Right away" and disappeared into the kitchen. The audacity. Did she not recognize me? My name carried weight in this city, yet here I was, being treated like some nobody.

As I waited, tapping my fingers against the table in irritation, the door to the diner opened. My irritation briefly gave way to disbelief as I saw them—Black brothers. The infamous Black brothers. Their presence immediately shifted the atmosphere in the diner; heads turned, whispers erupted.

I glanced back toward the kitchen, wondering how long it could possibly take to grab some ice. When she finally returned, her expression had changed entirely. She wasn’t paying attention to me at all. Instead, her eyes were locked on the Black brothers, and her entire body language screamed shock.

Then it happened. The bowl of ice she was carrying slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor in a spectacular mess.

"Hey, sweetheart, you okay there?" one of the brothers asked, his tone dripping with concern.

I was already on my feet, my patience obliterated. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snapped. "I told you to get me some ice, not throw it at my feet!"

She turned to face me, clearly unbothered by my outburst. No apology, no flustered scramble to clean up the mess—just a blank, distracted stare.

And then she spoke, completely ignoring me. "Mike! Luke! Martin! Henry!" she practically shouted their names with an excitement that bordered on hysteria.

I froze, trying to process what I was hearing. She knew them?

The brothers exchanged confused looks, clearly trying to figure out who this woman was. "Mike, is she one of yours or Lucas’s?" one of them asked.

The waitress’s expression shifted from joy to rage in an instant. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snapped, her voice rising. "You don’t greet your long-lost sister like this!"

The Black brothers’ confusion deepened, and Lucas shrugged. "Not me," he said with a shake of his head. "She’s definitely not mine."

Martin chuckled, his smirk widening. "I think she might be Lucas’s type."

The waitress exploded. "The fuck is wrong with you guys?! I wouldn’t be caught dead with you jerks! I’m your sister, for fuck’s sake!"

The diner fell silent as every eye turned to her. My mind raced, trying to connect the dots. She claimed to be their sister?

The brothers, to their credit, burst out laughing. Full-on, gut-clenching laughter. "This is a new one," Lucas choked out between fits of amusement. "Girlfriend? Yeah, we get that a lot. But sister? That’s a whole new level of crazy!"

I stood there, stunned. How could she know the Black brothers and not recognize me? And who was this woman, bold enough to stand there yelling at four of the most powerful men in the city like they were naughty schoolboys?

My thoughts were interrupted when she grabbed the steaming cup of coffee off my table.

"Here’s your fucking welcome back!" she yelled, flinging the coffee at the brothers.

The cup struck Martin, splashing onto Mike and Henry, while Lucas barely dodged the cascade.

"What the hell?!" Mike shouted, shaking his arms.

"Yes!" she screamed back, her voice shaking with fury. "I’m insane because you idiots don’t even remember your own sister! Me! Princess Alexia of Epheffestus!"

The name hung in the air, heavy and unfamiliar. Princess? What kind of delusional nonsense was this?

The Black brothers stared at her, dumbfounded. For a moment, I thought she might have actually stunned them into taking her seriously.

But Martin ruined it. "Princess who?" he asked, wiping coffee from his shirt. "Is that, like, a TikTok thing or something?"

She threw up her hands, her frustration palpable. "Unbelievable," she muttered, turning toward me. For a second, I thought she might try to salvage the situation.

No such luck.

"Your ice is on the floor," she said coldly, glaring at me. "Have fun picking it up yourself."

And just like that, she stormed out of the diner, leaving me standing there, drenched in irritation and disbelief.

The Black brothers turned to me, their expressions a mix of amusement and irritation. I shrugged, just as surprised as they were. "Don’t look at me," I said, my voice flat. "I’m just as confused as you are."

Lucas groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "This is ridiculous. That demented waitress ruined everything."

I couldn’t help the flicker of irritation in my chest. As entertaining as it was to watch the chaos unfold, this was supposed to be a private meeting. Instead, the scene had turned into a spectacle. The other diners were now blatantly staring, their whispers loud enough to catch snippets like "Black brothers" and "what’s going on."

"Let’s get out of here," I said, my tone firm as I glanced around the diner. "You’ve attracted enough attention, and I was trying to avoid exactly this."

Henry chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, because nothing screams low profile like a public meltdown."

Lucas rolled his eyes, still grumbling. "It’s not my fault. Blame the waitress. She’s the one who went off the rails."

"Doesn’t matter whose fault it is," I snapped, trying to rein in my growing irritation. "We’re leaving. Now."

As they begrudgingly followed me out the door, my thoughts lingered on the waitress. Her outburst, her audacity, and her apparent lack of recognition for who she was dealing with—it all gnawed at me.

Who the hell was she?