"Join the Phillips Group," Lilah proposed. "We'll value you more than the Dillon Group ever did. I trust you. Together, we can surpass them. What do you say?"

Silence hung between them, stretching long enough for Lilah to sense a decline.

“Only one condition," Ewing finally said.

“Name it," she responded, ready to negotiate, yet unprepared for what he might ask.

In a restaurant, Ewing exclaimed, "This is delicious!"

He savored the ribs with a gusto that left Lilah slightly astonished by his appetite.

"When did you last eat?" she queried.

“It's been a while," Ewing admitted. “I'd worked as a waiter for some cash, but then I lost my will to do anything recently. What's the point in a life like this? I even thought about-well, ending it.”

His tone was steady despite the gravity of his words. His eyes, however, glinted with a newfound resolve. “But meeting you, Lilah, has changed my perspective. I'm in. Let's show the Dillon Group they made a mistake."

As he continued eating, Lilah's heart sank for the gifted architect her grandfather had once proudly introduced, now reduced to this state by the Dillon Group's machinations.

She signaled the waiter for more food.

Meanwhile, in a private room of the same restaurant, two men exuded an air of distinction.

Gerard, one of them, was informed by the manager about Lilah's presence. Gerard was the boss of the establishment, so the manager naturally kept an eye on guests connected to him.

"Charge it to my account," Gerard instructed. Then, hearing the bill, he asked, eyebrow arched, "Is she hosting a big group?"

"Just two people," the manager replied.

Gerard pondered the amount of food ordered by just two individuals.

Sitting beside Gerard was a foreign client. His son was a striking mixed-race young man, identifiable by his fair complexion and a black hair tie around his wrist.

"What's that on your wrist?" the foreign client couldn't help but ask.

The foreign client, puzzled by his son's accessory, which seemed more fitting for a girl, began to worry.

“Why are you wearing that?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Dad, it's a symbol," his son explained with a smile, lifting his wrist. “It's a gift from my girlfriend. It signifies that I'm taken."

The client was momentarily lost for words.

His son, with a hint of sarcasm, added, “You might not be familiar, but Mr. Harris here probably knows, right?"

Gerard, though not particularly interested in such matters, had heard of this tradition and gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.