Glass shattered. Wine and blood sprayed into the air.
Jasmine clutched her head, screaming as she crumbled to the floor.
"Violet! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Anthony stormed in, eyes widening at the scene.
I pointed at the stretchers. "This bitch caused Mom's heart attack! Dad was so angry he collapsed! Does she deserve to live?!"
Anthony froze. For a split second, his gaze flickered toward his parents.
"Tony... darling..." Jasmine's weak, tearful voice pulled him back. She reached out with a blood-slicked hand, grasping his pant leg. "Violet refused to pay... she hit me... Those two were pretending to be sick to escape the check..."
The security guards chimed in like a rehearsed choir. "Yes! Mr. Sanchez, don't be fooled!"
The hesitation in Anthony's eyes vanished. He knelt to support Jasmine, then looked up at me, gaze ice-cold.
"You'd better pray she's fine," he spat. "If she isn't, your entire family will pay."
He turned to the guards. "Get her to the ambulance. Now."
The paramedics and the doctor were dumbfounded.
"Sir, that's impossible!" The doctor gestured to my in-laws. "These patients are critical—they need immediate transport. The woman has a head injury, but she's stable. Let the elderly go first!"
Jasmine let out a sharp wail, clutched her head tighter, and went limp in Anthony's arms.
His expression darkened. "Can't you see she's unconscious? Drive. Now."
"But sir—"
"If anything happens to her," Anthony cut in, voice low and dangerous, "Mercy General can forget the Sanchez Group's donation next year. Understand?"
The threat hung heavy. The nurse paled, gritted her teeth, and slammed the ambulance doors shut.
I watched in horror as the vehicle sped away—sirens wailing, carrying the woman who caused all this—while my dying in-laws lay on the cold pavement, waiting.
The doctor left behind at the restaurant scrambled to find transportation, his face pale with urgency.
Rage boiled through me. I raised my phone to snap a picture—evidence to force Anthony's eyes open.
Before I could focus, a heavy boot slammed down. A security guard snatched the device and crushed it under his heel.
"Mr. Sanchez's orders," he growled. "No photos. No videos. Unless you want to make an enemy of the Sanchez Group."
He turned to the crowd. "Cooperate, and all bills today are twenty percent off."
The diners complied instantly, heads bowing as they deleted the evidence.