Amelia’s POV

Nathan steers me into a restaurant three blocks away—one of those deliberately understated places where Manhattan’s elite conduct business over hundred-dollar lunches. The kind of establishment I used to frequent as Daniel’s wife and can’t afford to even look at now.

“Table for two,” Nathan tells the hostess. “Somewhere private.”

She seats us in a corner booth, far from windows and other diners. Nathan orders coffee without asking if I want any, then fixes me ...