Ethan Storm’s Dark Awakening novel Chapter 50

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The restaurant seemed to freeze in time.

Gasps rippled through the elegant dining area as the tension at Ethan and Alice’s table grew unbearable Guests abandoned their foie gras and flutes of champagne, turning to whisper behind their manicured fingers. It wasn’t every day someone dared to stir chaos at The Seraphine.

A woman nearby whispered to her companion, voice sharp with curiosity and thinly veiled judgment:

“Who are those two? That guy in white-he acts like he owns the place.”

Her friend shook her head, eyes narrowing.

“No clue. But the other one… that’s some serious tension. He’s not letting go, and that grip? Ice cold.”

From another table, a man in a tailored suit murmured to his date, brows furrowed.

“Looks like trouble. You don’t see that kind of confrontation here very often. Someone must be important.”

The woman beside him leaned closer, voice hushed but eager.

“Important, or dangerous. Maybe both. That grip is like a vice-he’s not bluffing.” 2

“Something about that white suit guy rubs me the wrong way… like he’s used to getting his way.”

An older gentleman, sipping his wine, shook his head in disbelief.

“Who even brings conflict into a place like this? It’s The Seraphine, not a bar fight alley.”

A sharp clatter of silverware hitting porcelain broke the hush. The restaurant manager, a slender man in a navy three-piece suit, rushed over with visible alarm, weaving through tables with brisk urgency.

“Gentlemen, please,” he hissed, eyes darting between Ethan and the smug man in the white suit. “This establishment maintains a strict policy against public disturbances. I must ask-”

Ethan cut him off, his voice low but firm as iron. “This man just sexually harassed my date,” he said, his grip tightening on Michael’s wrist. “I want him thrown out. Now.”

A collective gasp rippled through the restaurant.

But the man in the white suit simply laughed. A slow, condescending chuckle as he pulled his hand free and straightened the cuffs of his blazer like Ethan’s touch had contaminated him.

“Sexual harassment?” he scoffed, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “Let’s not be dramatic, little man.”

He turned slightly, projecting his voice just enough for surrounding tables to hear.

“I was paying her a compliment. Something you clearly don’t know how to do.”

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Then, with a cruel smirk, he looked Ethan up and down like he was a stray mutt that had wandered in

from the alley.

“For those who don’t know,” he said grandly, gesturing to himself, “I’m Michael Perez. Of the Perez family.”

He let the name hang in the air like a bomb.

“I thought someone like him would be honored that a man like me took interest in his little girlfriend. But instead-” he gestured to Ethan with disdain “-he’s yapping like some jealous mutt.”

A ripple of shocked murmurs broke out.

“Michael Perez?” a woman at the next table gasped, nearly spilling her wine.

“The Perez family?” another whispered. “They own like, half the east district.”

“Real estate, oil, tech… My cousin works at one of their companies,” someone added. “They’re insane > rich.”

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