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Forty-five minutes later, they finally reached their destination.
The five of them entered the restaurant one after another.
It was a private chef’s retreat built over a lake.
The house looked like a French-style cottage with ivy on the stone walls and warm lights shining through the windows.
The place hosted only one group each week and was meant for people who cared about privacy as much as good wine.
A wooden bridge connected it to the shore.
When the guests arrived, the bridge was pulled back, leaving them completely cut off from the mainland.
Small security cameras stood along the edge of the lake, and guards in dark suits walked their rounds.
It was the kind of place where rich people shared secrets and no paparazzi ever got close.
When Alpha Sebast
