At first, the change was barely noticeable.
The restaurant still buzzed with life, filled with the warmth of sizzling spices and the familiar hum of conversation. Customers came and went, their laughter blending with the clatter of dishes. But something felt off.
It started with the hesitant glances. Regular customers who usually greeted us with easy smiles now seemed unsure, their eyes flickering toward the entrance before stepping inside. Some paused just outside, lingering as if debating whether to come in at all. Others, who once spent hours here chatting over steaming bowls of soup, suddenly took their meals to go.
I tried to brush it off. Maybe it was just in my head. But then I saw Mr. Lawson—one of our most loyal customers—standing across the street, staring at our restaurant like a man with second thoughts. He had been coming here for years, always eager to chat with my father about the history books he was reading. But today, he hesitated. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to open the door but couldn't bring himself to. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
I frowned. Maybe he had somewhere else to be. Maybe it was nothing.
But it wasn't.
Over the next few days, more and more people hesitated. The whispers started soon after.
"Did you hear about the new place opening down the street?"
"Yeah. Owned by some huge restaurant chain. Fancy as hell."
"They're giving out free meals all week. Word is, it's backed by Sterling Enterprises."
The name alone sent a sharp chill through me. Lucas hadn't wasted any time.
It wasn't just talk, either. Flyers started appearing in the neighborhood—slick, glossy ads promising a "premium dining experience" at unbeatable prices. A grand opening was set for next week, and it wasn't just a new restaurant. It was war.
The confirmation came in the form of a man in a dark blue suit. He stepped into the restaurant during a slow hour, his black leather shoes clicking against the tiles as he made his way to the counter. He was tall, sharp-featured, and looked like the kind of person who never spoke unless he already knew the answer.
"Mr. Carter?" His voice was smooth, polite.
My father wiped his hands on a towel before stepping forward. "That's me."
The man smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a sleek black business card. Sterling Enterprises.
"First off, let me just say—you've built something truly special here. We've heard nothing but good things about your restaurant."
Neither of us said anything.
He continued, unbothered. "I'll get straight to the point. Our company is expanding, and we believe a collaboration with you could be mutually beneficial."
My father didn't even hesitate. "Not interested."
The man let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head like he'd expected that answer. "I understand your hesitation, but hear me out. Sterling Enterprises is prepared to offer financial support, marketing assistance, and an opportunity to bring your restaurant to an even greater audience. All we ask in return is a small stake in ownership. You'd still be in control, of course."
Lies. The kind wrapped up in a neat little bow to sound like a good deal.
"I built this place with my own hands," my father said, his voice steady. "I'm not handing it over."
The man sighed, adjusting his cufflinks. "Mr. Carter, you're a smart businessman. I'm sure you see where things are heading."
A pause.
"Competition can be… ruthless."
It was a warning. A promise. And then, just as smoothly as he had entered, he tucked the business card back into his pocket, smiled one last time, and walked out the door.
I barely focused in class the next day. The lectures blurred together, and even Emily's usual teasing couldn't pull me out of my thoughts.
At some point, she nudged me with her elbow. "You good?"
I forced a smirk. "Yeah. Just tired."
She studied me for a second. "You've been distracted all week. If something's wrong, you can tell me, you know."
For a moment, I thought about it. But then I remembered my mother last night—sitting at the back of the restaurant, staring at the old financial ledgers with a quiet, tired expression. I had never seen her cry before. Not once in my life.
I had nothing to say.
That night, as we were closing up, I took the trash out to the alley behind the restaurant. The air was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth inside. I was about to head back in when something caught my eye.
A dark streak along the side wall.
I stepped closer, my stomach twisting.
Spray-painted in bold, red letters were two words:
CLOSING SOON.
The letters dripped slightly, fresh and mocking. My hands clenched into fists.
This wasn't just competition. It was a message.
And for the first time, a slow, burning anger coiled in my chest.
This wasn't over.
It was only the beginning.