The soft chime above the door of the Bellmare restaurant rang out, blending with the constant murmur of conversations, the clinking of cutlery against plates, and the steady hiss of the grill in the back. It was a warm night in Los Angeles, one of those evenings when the air seems to hang suspended between the heated asphalt and the neon lights flickering across the street.
The place was almost full. Couples speaking in low voices, groups of friends laughing, tourists studying the menu as if it were a museum guide.
Liam Carter, nineteen years old, moved between the tables with a tray in his hand. He was slim, narrow-shouldered, wearing a black uniform slightly too big for his body, inherited from some previous waiter. The shirt wrinkled easily, and the apron was stained with small marks that never truly came out. His black hair, straight and slightly messy, fell over his forehead every time he lowered his gaze, and his blue eyes contrasted with the exhaustion already visible despite the shift not being over yet. He had started work at four in the afternoon. It was almost ten.
"Table twelve… table twelve…" he murmured to himself, mentally reviewing the orders as he walked carefully to avoid bumping into other waiters.
He hadn't taken two more steps when a sharp, impatient female voice stopped him.
"Excuse me!"
The woman barely raised her hand, as if the gesture were a favor rather than a call for attention. Liam turned immediately.
"Yes, how can I help you?" he replied with a polite smile, the kind you learn quickly when your survival depends on tips.
She was sitting alone. Blonde, long perfectly styled hair, flawless makeup even under the restaurant's warm lighting. Her green eyes looked him up and down with a mix of annoyance and superiority, as if evaluating something defective. She wore a light-colored, low-cut, expensive dress that showed off her figure without subtlety, and her phone rested beside her plate, strategically placed to be noticed.
With two fingers, she nudged the plate forward.
"There's a hair in my food."
Liam blinked.
"A hair?" He leaned in slightly to look.
There it was. Dark. Unmistakable. A single strand, enough to ruin everything.
"I'm very sorry, miss," he said quickly. "I can replace the dish immediately, or—"
"No," she interrupted, crossing her arms. "This is unacceptable. Do you know who I am?"
That question was never a good sign.
"Uh… no, miss," Liam admitted, keeping his respectful tone.
She let out a short, almost theatrical laugh, as if his answer amused her.
"I'm Scarlett Monroe. An actress."
Liam hesitated. The name didn't mean much to him. In Los Angeles, actors were everywhere—aspiring ones, extras, faces known only in certain circles. It was hard to keep track of them all.
"I understand…" he said. "I truly apologize for what happened. If you allow me—"
"I want to speak to the manager," she said firmly, pointing at the plate. "This could ruin my image. Can you imagine? An actress eating food with hair in it."
The noise of the restaurant seemed to fade for Liam, as if everything narrowed down to that single table. He tightened his grip on the tray.
"Of course," he replied. "I'll call him right away."
He turned and walked toward the back of the restaurant. As he did, he heard Scarlett pick up her phone.
"Yes, babe… I'm at Bellmare. No, you can't imagine…" she said in an exaggerated, affected voice. "I'll tell you later."
Liam reached the bar area, where the manager was reviewing some papers with an impatient expression.
"Mr. Henderson," Liam said quietly. "There's a problem."
Mr. Henderson was an older man with white hair and a deeply wrinkled face. His large belly pushed against his shirt, giving him a sloppy appearance. However, what was truly unpleasant about him wasn't his looks, but his behavior. He was rude, authoritarian, and known for being lecherous with the waitresses. Liam would never have worked for someone like him if he hadn't desperately needed the money to help his mother with his twin sister's college expenses.
The manager didn't even look up from the papers.
"What happened now?"
"The customer found a hair in her food. She wants to speak with you."
Henderson sighed in annoyance and slowly stood up.
"Name?"
"She says her name is Scarlett Monroe… she's an actress."
The old man froze mid-step. He frowned, searching his memory. Then a slow, unpleasant smile spread across his face.
"Scarlett Monroe?" he repeated. "Ah… yes. I know who she is."
Liam looked at him, uncomfortable.
"You know her, sir?"
"Not personally," Henderson replied, adjusting his tie. "But I've seen some of her movies. The kind they air late at night."
He let out a short, suggestive chuckle.
"Let's go," he added. "We shouldn't keep her waiting."
When they reached the table, Scarlett looked up with an impatient expression. Henderson immediately adopted his most servile tone.
"Miss Monroe, good evening. I'm the manager. I've been informed of what happened."
"Finally," she replied. "This is unacceptable."
She pushed the plate forward. Henderson barely glanced at it, paying more attention to her than the food.
"You're absolutely right," he said. "I deeply apologize for your experience. This kind of mistake does not represent our restaurant."
Scarlett crossed her arms.
"Mistakes have consequences."
Her eyes shifted toward Liam.
"And this boy is responsible."
"Mr. Henderson…" Liam started. "I didn't—"
"Silence," the manager cut him off without looking at him.
Henderson turned back to Scarlett.
"What solution do you consider appropriate, miss?"
She didn't hesitate.
"I want him fired."
The sound of the restaurant disappeared completely for Liam.
"What?" he said. "Sir, please… I need this job. That hair isn't mine, I—"
Henderson raised a hand, imposing silence.
"The reputation of the restaurant comes first," he stated coldly. "And I can't risk a bad review—especially not from someone well-known."
Scarlett smiled with satisfaction.
"I'm glad you understand."
Henderson turned to Liam, his gaze cold and final.
"You're fired. Turn in your uniform and leave."
The words were dry, leaving no room for argument.
Liam felt a knot tighten in his throat. He thought of his mother, his sister, the unpaid bills. He clenched his teeth, stepped closer in silence, then turned away.
As he walked off, he heard Scarlett say:
"Now then… I think I've lost my appetite."
And Henderson's low laughter followed.
That night, as Liam walked out through the back door of Bellmare—
[This is the first chapter of my novel. I hope you enjoy it and can support me, as I'm just starting out. This chapter is only a test to gauge interest, but I plan to upload two chapters per week. Later on, likely on Patreon, there will be several early-access chapters.]