Chapter 6 - The Aftermath at Maison Étoile
Two weeks later, autumn air had settled over Manhattan, but inside Maison Étoile, the atmosphere remained warm and exclusive.
At a corner table near the back—shielded by frosted glass and velvet upholstery—sat Dominic Russo and a woman who looked nothing like the stressed doctoral candidate who had stood in that same room weeks before.
I wore a tailored silk dress, my mother’s medical treatments fully paid for and managed by top specialists. My doctoral dissertation had received formal faculty approval for early submission.
Across the table, Dominic lifted his glass of scotch, smiling faintly.
“I hear Victoria hasn't stepped foot in this restaurant since she heard you were coming back for dinner,” Dominic noted dryly.
“I imagine my presence upsets her aesthetic,” I replied with a light laugh, taking a sip of sparkling water. “Though I must admit, service is much more relaxing when you’re sitting on the paying side of the table.”
Dominic chuckled. “Marcus is currently enjoying a very long, very uncomfortable federal detention facility upstate. My legal division has been completely restructured, and my international shipping lanes are safer than ever.”
“All thanks to a single word,” I smiled, tapping my Montblanc pen resting beside my water glass.
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“All thanks to a woman who refused to let anyone make her feel small just because of a black apron,” Dominic corrected quietly, raising his glass in a silent toast.
I raised mine to meet his, the crystal clinking softly in the amber light. For the first time in my life, I didn't have to endure, and I didn't have to apologize. I had written my own terms.
