Chapter 8 - The Empty Seat at the Table
The dessert plates were cleared away untouched. The candlelight flickered low, casting long, dancing shadows across the high stone walls of Varela Manor.
I sat back in my chair, dabbing my lips with my napkin, and looked around the table at the ruins of the Mendoza family dynasty.
"Thank you for coming today," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the heavy air. "It's rare to get the whole family together for a holiday. But I figured it was only fair that you see where your journey ends."
I stood up from the head of the table. The scraping of my chair sounded like thunder in the quiet room.
"Your vehicles are waiting outside," I added, looking down at Alejandro, who didn't even have the energy to look up. "The valets have already transferred your personal belongings from the Bentley into the back of your mother's Maybach. You'll need to share. After all, repo men are notoriously unsympathetic to personal space."
I turned and walked toward the grand double doors of the dining room, my emerald silk dress rustling softly against the marble threshold.
Just before I stepped out into the foyer, I paused and glanced back over my shoulder.
"Happy Easter, Alejandro," I said softly. "Enjoy the real world. It builds character."
I walked out, leaving them sitting in the dimming candlelight of a house they never owned, surrounded by a fortune they never earned, facing a future they could never escape.
May you like
The heavy oak doors closed behind me with a soft, final click.
Ahead of me lay the grand staircase, the soaring ceilings, and the vast, beautiful expanse of Varela Manor—quiet, peaceful, and entirely mine.
