Vianne The diner table smelled like grease and coffee, and I loved it. Waiting tables at Miller's wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine. My own money, earned without my mother's manipulation, without being paraded in front of whatever mark she was working. For a week now, I'd been coming here after school, pocketing tips, and watching my savings account actually grow for once. "Order up, Vianne!" Joe, the cook, slid two plates across the counter. "Got it!" I grabbed them and delivered them to table seven, my smile genuine despite my aching feet. The hardest part wasn't the work but hiding it from Briar. Every day, I told her I was studying with Diana or working on a group project. She'd narrow those blue-gray eyes at me, suspicion flickering across her face, but she never pushed. Maybe she was too busy planning her next move with Theodore, or too occupied with playing the perfect wife to care what her daughter was really doing. Or so I thought. "You're staying late again?" Briar
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