When Rose returned to the table, her black dress now slightly loosened at the shoulder, Catherine was standing, preparing to leave.
"I think this was a mistake," Catherine said softly, her voice steady but clearly cracking. "Whatever this is… I want no part of it."
"Oh, sweetheart," Rose purred, sliding effortlessly into her chair, crossing her legs with exaggerated grace. "Don't run just because things are getting real. It's not a fairy tale. Not everyone gets a happy ending."
Catherine's eyes narrowed slightly. "No, but some of us don't build our happiness by tearing others down."
That touched a nerve.
Rose leaned forward, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You think just because you make pretty lattes and smile politely, you're better than me? You've had him all this time — and what did you do with it? Bore him? Ignore him? He came running to me."
Catherine didn't flinch. "Then maybe you deserve each other."
But before she could step away, Rose suddenly raised her voice, loud enough to turn heads at nearby tables. "I knew you'd snap eventually, you fake little saint. What's next, you going to throw something now?"
Catherine stared at her in disbelief. "What are you talking abou—"
But Rose was already reaching for her wine glass.
And in one fluid, theatrical motion, she tipped the glass onto herself — wine splashing across her face, soaking her chest, staining the black silk like blood.
Gasps echoed from nearby tables.
And then — as if from a rehearsed stage play — she slapped her own cheek lightly, just enough to redden it.
The glass clattered onto the table.
Perfect timing.
Maverick walked back in.
He froze mid-step.
"What the hell—?" he gasped, rushing toward the table.
Rose stood, trembling, clutching her wine-soaked dress, mascara trailing faintly as if tears had followed.
"Your sweet darling," she began, her voice thick with betrayal, "just snapped at me. I tried to explain — to calm her down — but she called me a bitch, threw her drink on me, and slapped me."
Catherine's mouth dropped open. "What—no—"
"She slapped me, Maverick. Right across the face. In front of everyone." Rose's lip quivered — she was a masterpiece of manipulation.
Maverick turned to Catherine, his eyes blazing. "Tell me she's lying."
"I didn't—" Catherine's voice shook. "Why would I do that? Why would I even touch her? I don't fight with people. I don't act like this. Maverick—please—"
Her eyes searched his face, desperate for him to see her. To remember who she really was.
But he was already drowning in guilt, shame, confusion.
"What do you mean, 'dirty your hands,' Catherine?" His voice was rising now, a mixture of rage and disbelief. "You used to be the calm one. The kind one. The one who held everything together. I don't know who I'm looking at anymore!"
Then came the sound that shattered everything.
PAANNGG.
His hand met her cheek with a sharp, echoing slap.
The restaurant went silent.
Forks stopped mid-air. Conversations died. The sound lingered — louder than the jazz, louder than her breath.
Catherine didn't cry.
She didn't even blink right away.
Her face turned to the side, a red mark blooming across her skin.
But her eyes... they were wide. Not just from pain.
From the weight of it all.
The betrayal. The humiliation. The realization that love — or what she thought was love — could turn violent in the hands of a coward.
Maverick's chest heaved. His hand trembled. But his face showed no regret.
Not yet.
Rose stood behind him, untouched, victorious, her smile subtle but unmistakable.
Catherine slowly turned her face back toward them both. For a second, it looked like she might say something.
But there were no words strong enough.
No words fragile enough.
Just silence.
She stepped away from the table, then walked — not ran — through the stunned restaurant.
Outside, the skies had cracked open once more. Rain poured down like mourning, cold and relentless.
Catherine didn't pull her coat tighter.
She didn't hail a cab.
She just walked.
Her tears mixed with the rain, but no one could see the difference.
Each step was heavier than the last, but she kept moving.
Because she knew…
This wasn't just the end of a dinner.
It was the end of something sacred.
Something she would never let be broken again.