Chapter 1 - The Feast of Reckoning
The morning sun hit the marble countertops of the Sutherland estate, casting long, stark shadows across the empty dining room.
When Weston answered the door, his face was pale, red lines still framing his eyes from a night of poor sleep. He was holding an ice pack to his hand—where he’d bruised his own knuckles grabbing my hair.
"You came back," he said, a smug, relieved smirk touching his lips. "I knew you’d realize you have nowhere else to go. Get inside. My mother is losing her mind."
I didn’t answer. Behind me, two commercial delivery drivers unloaded ten insulated catering crates.
"What is all this?" Marguerite’s sharp voice rang from the top of the foyer staircase. She glided down in a gold silk gown, her eyes flicking over the stacked thermal boxes. "Did you actually make the twenty dishes? Good. At least you know your place. Put them in the dining room and start setting the silverware."
"I didn't make them," I said calmly, stepping past Weston. "I had the city’s top gourmet catering service prepare every single item on your list. Exactly as specified. Crab cakes, roast beef, white truffle mushrooms, homemade brioche rolls—all twenty items."
Marguerite paused, her eyebrows arching. "With what money? Weston, did she use our joint card?"
"No," I replied, opening my purse and pulling out a glossy white folder alongside an itemized invoice stamped with a bright red PAID IN FULL mark. "I paid for it using the boutique’s corporate reserve account. The one you registered under my name three years ago to bypass commercial licensing fees."
Weston stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Brynn, what are you talking about? That's our family business account."
"It was," I corrected. "Until this morning, when I officially filed for a administrative audit as the sole managing director listed on the tax registrations. But don't worry about that right now, Marguerite. Your forty-eight guests are arriving in two hours. You should enjoy your birthday."
Marguerite’s face turned from smug to suspicious. "What did you do?"
May you like
I smiled, setting the folder on the grand glass dining table alongside the silver trays. "I brought you your party. And I brought you your invoice. Every dish on this table cost a premium—just like the five years of free labor I gave this family. Consider this my final gift."
Before Weston could grab my arm again, two uniformed officers from the city's fraud prevention unit stepped onto the front porch behind me.
