Claiming What's Mine: A Billionaire Romance
A hostess greeted me with a polished smile, her gaze sweeping over me with polite curiosity.
“I’m here to meet someone,” I said nervously.
“Of course,” she said, her tone impeccable. “May I have your name or the name of your party?”
“Antonius Rockwell,” I replied, and the name felt foreign on my tongue, heavy with significance.
Her smile didn’t waver as she checked her list and then nodded. “Right this way, ma’am.”
As she led me through the lavish dining area, I couldn’t help but notice the opulence around me—the crystal chandeliers, the pristine white tablecloths, the soft clinking of silverware. Everything here screamed luxury, a far cry from the simple life I had always known.
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