No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 217

**He Chased 217**

**CHAPTER 0917**

**CHAPTER 0217**

**ELIZABETH’S POV**

“You had one straightforward task, and yet you managed to mess it up—typical of Americans,” I spat, my frustration bubbling within me like a living creature clawing to escape. My voice sliced through the ambient noise of the café, drawing the attention of several patrons, but I was beyond caring. The sheer incompetence before me demanded to be confronted head-on.

The lingering sting in my palm from when I had slapped him the first time was still fresh in my mind, and truthfully, I regretted not hitting him harder. Perhaps I should have doused him with the other drink too; it would have perfectly complemented the first splash that ruined my dress. The humiliation still seared through me, and with every glance at his quivering form, my irritation surged to new heights.

“Elizabeth, please, enough already. He apologized. Let it go,” Lauren interjected from my side, her tone low yet firm. She subtly inclined her head toward the other customers, a warning in her eyes.

It was only then that I became aware of the multitude of phones aimed in our direction, capturing the scene like we were the stars of some reality show. My jaw tightened in response. Of course. Is this what Americans do? Instead of stepping in to help or simply minding their own business, they whip out their phones and record everything—like a pack of idle, nosy creatures.

Back in Russia, such behavior would be unheard of. No waiter would dare to pour a drink over me in the first place; they understood their roles and executed them with competence. And if something did occur, the diners would remain focused on their meals, lost in their own lives, rather than intruding on someone else’s turmoil.

Unlike this pathetic excuse for a waiter trembling before me.

The fire of my anger still raged, but I wasn’t one to crave the spotlight or seek validation on social media. The last thing I wanted was to become a trending topic, especially with my parents watching. My mother would have a field day with that.

“Good day, ladies and gentlemen. I’m the manager. Is there an issue here?”

The new voice startled me, and I turned to see the manager hovering nearby, a nervous smile plastered on his face as he flicked his gaze between me and the hapless waiter I had drenched. His eyes widened slightly as they took in the state of my dress.

“Yes, there is,” I replied without hesitation. “Look what he did to my dress! Do you have any idea how much it costs to replace something like this?” I gestured angrily at the damp fabric clinging uncomfortably to my skin.

The manager’s eyes darted around the café, and I could see the panic rising in him as he realized how many people were watching. He cleared his throat, adjusting his tie as if it were a noose tightening around his neck.

“I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience,” he rushed to say. “He can be a bit clumsy at times, but I assure you it won’t happen again.” He extended a small towel toward me, his smile apologetic yet somewhat strained.

I stared at the towel for a moment, feeling a mix of disdain and necessity. I didn’t want any token from them, but the cold, wet fabric was uncomfortable against my skin. With a reluctant huff, I snatched the towel from his hand and began to dab at the mess, feeling a little of my dignity slip away with every pat.

“A small piece of advice, ma’am…” the manager added hesitantly, his voice wavering. “Instead of purchasing a new one, you might consider dry cleaning it.”

I froze, my hand suspended in mid-air.

An insult. It had to be an insult.

Had she mentioned she was bringing Roman—her so-called friend—I would have prepared myself. I would have dressed with more care, chosen an outfit that wouldn’t cling unflatteringly when wet. I would have perfected my makeup, crafted a look that would make him glance my way a moment too long.

But no. She just waltzed in with him, and now she was acting innocent while practically flaunting their connection.

How amusing.

“Can you believe those people? I’m glad they’re gone,” I finally said, breaking the thick silence that had settled between us.

Lauren let out a quiet sigh, her expression a mix of exasperation and concern. “That was quite the display, Elizabeth. Especially in a place where you’re still a newcomer. Your reaction could have repercussions for me since we’re identical.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Roman interjected before I could respond.

“She has a point,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “No one knows that Lauren has a twin sister yet. If you react like that and someone captures it on video, they’ll undoubtedly assume it’s Lauren. That could lead to complications.”

Now that he had voiced it, and with Roman Hale of all people pointing it out, I found myself at a loss for words. Embarrassment crept in, tightening around my chest like a vice. I had to feign understanding, to show that I felt some remorse.

And honestly, in that moment, I did.