Mr billionaire's regret chasing his irresistible wife by Gabby Emmanuel

The velvet Fork

(ARIELLE'S POV)

So this was it-The Velvet Fork, our rival restaurant.

"We're going deep undercover," Stephen declared, adjusting his fake mustache and patting down the ridiculous green wig perched on his head.

I sighed, already regretting agreeing to this. "Are you sure that disguise won't just make you more obvious?"

"Obvious? Ha! You're the obvious one!" Rebecca retorted, tilting her enormous sunhat so low it practically swallowed her face. Her oversized sunglasses weren't helping her blend in, either.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Neither of you can talk. We all look like a bad comedy sketch."

"Speak for yourself," Stephen said with mock indignation, twirling his fake mustache. "I'm a method actor. This is art."

I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head at their antics. Once inside, I managed to steer us toward something resembling a logical plan. "Let's get a table, place an order, and observe their operations," I suggested, adjusting my own dark shades. Stephen straightened his wig. "Got it. Time to give an Oscar-worthy performance."

Rebecca smiled mischievously. "Time to put my spy skills into use and gather as much intel as we need."

We spotted an empty table of three and approached, taking our seats. Afterwards, we beckoned a waiter, and he handed us a menu.

As we skimmed through, our eyes widened in unison. I quickly forced a neutral expression when the waiter asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, not at all," I said with a too-bright smile, handing back the menu. "Your design is... impressive."

He smiled, his face relaxing. "Can I take your orders now?"

"Of course. I'll have grilled chicken and rice," I said.

"And I'll have the chicken parmesan," Stephen chimed.

"I will have the vegetarian quinoa bowl," Rebecca said.

The waiter scribbled the orders on his iPad before walking away. The moment he was out of earshot, Stephen, who was already fuming, spoke up.

"That menu is a ripoff! It's basically ours! Even the design!"

just copy

infuriating, but let's not make a scene," I

her critique mood, loudly commented. "Their chicken sauce is over-reduced by the way, and the

waiter was nearby and he seemed to have overheard Rebecca as he looked in our direction.

a problem?" He asked, eyeing us wearily. "I

I was referring to the restaurant we visited yesterday. Their sauce was nothing to write

and

just drawing a

case, I heard her clearly," he

and our covers are blown. But fortunately, the

dish with my experienced and professional eyes, I knew instantly

politely. "Excuse me, but I believe this chicken isn't

said dismissively. "Perhaps you're unfamiliar with international cuisine? This is inspired by the Japanese and Spanish styles." I raised an eyebrow,

and Spain. That's

The texture was off, and the smell was

"Maybe we should take a sample to

he added, "Or a journalist. 'Velvet

could escalate, I stood, carefully placing my napkin on the table. "Excuse me,"

coughed and rose from my seat. Rebecca

be right back," I

the restroom, grateful

whispered, staring at my

the faucet splashed over my hands, the steady rhythm helping to calm my racing nerves. With my emotions under control adjusted my muffler and prepared to

rumors about their food

can just

froze, every muscle tensing. Were they talking about

is going down soon,"

I stepped back as silently as possible, my mind reeling. Once I was sure they wouldn't notice me, I slipped out of the restroom, my legs moving on autopilot as I returned to our

looked up, alarmed.

Sunging

need to leave. Now," I said, my voice sharp

as his wig shifted dangerously on his head. "Whoa, keep it together!" I whispered, hurriedly adjusting the lopsided wig before it could plunge

both curious and concerned.

mouthed, gesturing