While My Husband Cheated I Married His Powerful Brother novel Chapter 184

Chapter 184: Chapter 184 Love Rival

​The restaurant interior was warm, filled with the soft clinking of silverware and background jazz music.

​Veyra stood perfectly still near the hostess stand, her thick admission letter still held firmly in her hand. The doorway leading to the private dining area was right behind her, and the tall woman in the expensive designer dress was slowly walking toward it.

​Naya Whitmore.

​Veyra didn’t know her name yet, nor did she know her background. However, she could plainly feel the sharp hostility radiating off the woman, heavy and intense like the heat rising from an open flame.

​She was completely certain she had never met this woman before in her life. Yet the way Naya had just looked at her, with cold, dismissive eyes full of sudden hatred, made a uncomfortable knot form in her stomach.

​Veyra shook her head slightly, trying to clear her mind. She told herself that she was probably just overthinking things because of how exhausted and stressed she was from her morning.

​She turned back to face the young hostess behind the podium. "Is there really no other table available on the main floor?"

​The hostess offered an apologetic smile and shook her head. "I am so sorry, ma’am. We are fully booked for the entire lunch rush."

​Leon stepped up beside her, his tall frame blocking her from the crowd.

​His eyes were locked tightly onto Naya’s retreating figure, his posture tense and alert. His right hand instinctively hovered near the edge of his tailored suit jacket.

​"Mrs. Thorne," Leon murmured in a low, careful tone. "That woman over there is Naya Whitmore."

​Veyra blinked in confusion, looking up at him. "You recognize her?"

​"She is the daughter of Councilor Whitmore," Leon explained softly. "She has been aggressively pursuing Mr. Thorne for several years now."

​Veyra felt her blood run cold at his words.

​Naya Whitmore. That was the name Dorian had mentioned before, the prominent socialite he had used as a simple buffer to keep other persistent suitors away from him.

​She turned her gaze back toward Naya, taking in the full sight of her tailored designer dress, her perfectly styled dark hair, and her arrogant stance.

​This was the woman who was obsessed with Dorian.

​This was the woman standing directly in front of her as a romantic rival.

​Naya suddenly paused right at the grand entrance of the private dining room.

​She slowly turned around on her high heels, her cold eyes sweeping deliberately over Veyra’s simple clothes, then over the nervous hostess, and finally landing on Leon.

​Her voice cut sharply through the quiet atmosphere of the foyer. "That private room belongs to me. I personally reserved it."

​The hostess bowed her head repeatedly, stammering out a quick response. "Yes, of course, Ms. Whitmore! I am deeply sorry for any mix-up at the front desk."

​"There was no mix-up on my end," Naya stated coldly, tilting her chin up. "I booked this room in advance, and I expect it to be ready for my guests the second I step through the door."

​"It is completely ready for you, ma’am. Right this way," the hostess assured her hurriedly.

​A young waiter stepped forward from the hallway, looking visibly flustered. His eyes shifted back and forth between Veyra and Naya as he assessed the situation.

​He took a quick look at Veyra’s plain attire, noting her practical outfit and lack of flash. Then his gaze moved to Naya’s head-to-toe luxury label coat and diamond earrings.

​He made his choice in an instant.

​"Ms. Whitmore," the waiter said with a fake, overly polite smile. "Your private dining suite is set up and waiting for you."

​Veyra took a step forward, keeping her voice steady. "Excuse me, but I was standing here speaking to the staff first."

​The waiter blinked, looking slightly annoyed by her interruption. "Pardon me?"

​"I arrived at the stand before she did," Veyra pointed out clearly. "I was in the middle of inquiring about the private room."

​The waiter shifted his weight uncomfortably, his tone turning dismissive. "I am sorry, ma’am, but Ms. Whitmore holds a priority booking with us."

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