Chapter 7 - The Final Course
The servers, trained to remain invisible through corporate takeouts and emotional meltdowns, stepped out from the shadows near the pantry doors.
"Shall we serve the main course?" the head server asked politely, his voice entirely deadpan, as if a multi-million-dollar corporate annihilation was nothing more than an everyday table setting.
"Please," I said, gesturing to the table. "Our guests have worked up quite an appetite."
The heavy silver domes were lifted simultaneously. Beneath them lay a magnificent Easter feast: roasted rack of spring lamb with rosemary and garlic glaze, honey-glazed heirloom carrots, truffled potato gratin, and a rich, aromatic reduction sauce. The steam curled up into the air, carrying a rich, mouth-watering aroma that filled the room.
None of the Mendozas touched their silverware.
Elena Sr. had collapsed back into her chair, her grand Chanel suit suddenly looking like cheap upholstery on a broken woman. Her silver hair seemed to lose its luster, and she stared straight ahead at the wall, muttering incoherently about lawyers and social standing.
Valeria was quietly weeping into her designer napkin, her mascara running in dark streaks down her cheeks.
Marcus sat with his head in his hands, staring at the floor.
Alejandro looked older—ten years older than he had on the courthouse steps just three weeks ago. The veneer of invincibility, the smug confidence of the wealthy heir, the casual cruelty with which he had discarded me—all of it had been stripped away, leaving behind a terrified, hollow shell of a man.
"Eat," I said, cutting a small, precise piece of lamb on my plate. "It would be a shame for the food to go to waste. After all, you always did enjoy the finer things in life when someone else was paying for them."
No one moved. No one spoke.
May you like
The silence in the dining room was absolute, heavy with the undeniable weight of poetic justice. For five years, they had tried to starve my spirit, to make me feel small, insignificant, and dependent on their conditional charity. They had built their entire world on a foundation of sand, assuming that because I was quiet, I was weak.
They didn't understand that true power doesn't need to shout. It simply waits.
