Connor stared down at the folder lying on the greasy floor tiles.
He looked like a man waking up to find himself nailed inside a coffin.
"I didn't know," he stammered, his eyes darting around the room. "Blake, I swear. I thought you were just..."
"Just a waitress?" I cut him off, my voice ice-cold. "Just a nobody you could abuse to make yourself feel powerful?"
"I was under pressure!" he pleaded, sweat beading on his forehead. "The investors..."
"The investors are gone," Lina interrupted.
Her voice sliced through the humid kitchen air like a scalpel.
"We intercepted them in the lobby. They have been informed that doing business with the Bishop family is a direct violation of the Shaw treaty."
Connor choked on a breath.
"You killed the deal?"
"I killed your future," I corrected him.
Jaden stepped forward, looking confused and utterly stupid.
"Connor, why are you letting her talk to you like that? She's just the help!"
"Shut up!" Connor roared at her, the veins in his neck bulging.
He turned back to me, his hands shaking violently.
"Blake, please. We're engaged. This is a misunderstanding. I love you."
I held up my burned hand.
The blisters were raw and weeping now, a map of his cruelty.
"You watched her do this," I said softly. "And you told me to apologize."
"I'll fire Mark!" Connor begged, dropping all pretense of dignity. "I'll ban her! I'll do anything!"
"It's too late for firing," I said.
I signaled Lina.
"The Shaw family has invoked the incompetence clause," Lina announced, reciting his death sentence. "We have frozen all Bishop-Shaw merger assets. We have seized the ports. Your accounts have been drained to cover the breach of contract penalty."
Connor's knees gave out.
He actually fell, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
"My mother," he whispered, his face draining of color. "Her house is in the trust."
"Evicted," Lina said simply. "Effective immediately."
"This is war," Connor gasped.
"No," I said, looming over him. "This is an eviction. You were a tenant here, Connor, and you failed to pay your rent in respect."
I pointed a trembling finger to the folder.
"Pick it up."
Connor hesitated.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, his hand resting ominously on his sidearm.
Connor scrambled on his hands and knees, pathetic and small.
He grabbed the folder.
He opened it.
"Dissolution of Alliance & Asset Forfeiture," he read aloud, his voice cracking.
"Sign it," I commanded. "Or my father burns this city to the ground with you inside it."
"I'll have nothing," Connor cried. Tears were streaming down his face now, mixing with the sweat.
"You have your life," I said. "Which is more than you deserve."
He fumbled for a pen.
Lina handed him one.
He signed.
His signature was shaky, a jagged line of total defeat.
"Get out," I said. "Go to North Dakota. My father has a logistics hub there. You can manage inventory in the snow. If you ever step foot in New York again, you die."
Connor stood up, clutching his chest as if he were having a heart attack.
He turned to leave.
Jaden grabbed his arm, her eyes wide.
"Connor? What about me?"
Connor looked at her with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You," he spat. "You did this. Get off me. I don't know you."
He shoved her away and ran out the door, a broken man running from his own shadow.
Jaden stood there, trembling in her expensive heels.
She looked at me, the reality finally sinking in.
"What happens to me?" she whispered.
"Austin," I said.
The chef stepped forward, wiping his hands on a towel.
"Throw the trash out," I ordered. "And make sure every restaurant in the tri-state area knows her face. She doesn't eat in this city again."
Austin grabbed Jaden by the collar of her mink coat.
She screamed as he dragged her toward the back exit like a sack of garbage.
"Get off me! Do you know who I am?"
"Nobody," Austin said, his voice flat.
He kicked the heavy steel door open and threw her into the alley.
Her screams faded into the night air.
The kitchen fell quiet.
I felt light.
Clean.
I turned to Lina.
"Tell Father it's done."
Lina nodded once and left with the soldiers, leaving silence in her wake.
I was alone with Austin.
He walked back to the stove, his movements calm and rhythmic.
He didn't ask if I was okay.
He didn't offer pity.
He simply picked up a pan.
"Risotto," he murmured. "With white truffle oil. Comfort food."
He plated a small portion and set it on the prep table.
He placed a silver spoon next to it.
Then he looked at me.
His eyes were dark, intelligent, and dangerous.
"Eat, Boss," he said.
I sat down on a stool, my legs finally feeling the exhaustion.
I took a bite.
It was perfect.
Rich, creamy, and warm.
For the first time in a year, the food didn't taste like betrayal.
It tasted like freedom.
