Isla Wyndham and Elara, her daughter, sat in a private dining room together with Jasmine. Isla had earlier ensured that her secretary booked it in advance so that their conversation would not be disturbed. The restaurant Isla had chosen was quiet and elegant, designed for people who valued privacy and discretion. Soft music played in the background, and the lighting was warm. Every detail, from the crystal glasses to the carefully plated dishes, reflected refinement. Yet, despite the beauty of the setting, the atmosphere at their table felt tense. Isla studied Jasmine closely as she ate. It was not difficult to notice that something was off. Jasmine moved her fork slowly across her plate, taking small bites that did not match the quality of the meal before her. “Don’t you like the food, Jasmine?” Isla asked gently. Jasmine looked up and offered a soft smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “I like it. It’s good,” she replied. Elara also noticed it, but she chose not to comment
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