“Daniel, you listen to me,” Margaret hissed, stepping forward with her finger pointed like a weapon. “You cannot back out now. Our families have a business arrangement. The merger…”
“The merger is dead,” Daniel cut her off, his voice slicing through her threats like a scalpel. “My board was already hesitant about acquiring your husband’s failing shipping company. This just gave me the final push I needed. The deal is off. And judging by the fact that your husband’s creditors are circling like vultures, I suggest you enjoy the champagne, Margaret. It’s probably the last expensive glass you’ll have for a very long time.”
Margaret’s jaw unhinged. She looked around the room, realizing with horrifying clarity that a dozen guests still had their phones out, recording every single word of her family’s financial ruin.
Vanessa burst into dramatic, heaving sobs, dropping to her knees amid the broken crystal, careless of the shards snagging her custom designer gown. “Daniel, please! I love you! It was a mistake! I’ll apologize to the stupid girl!”
She turned her tear-streaked face toward Emily. “I’m sorry! Okay? I’m sorry! Just tell him it’s fine! Tell him you forgive me!”
Emily looked down at the woman on the floor. Ten minutes ago, Vanessa had been a god in this room, wielding her wealth like a blunt instrument. Now, she was just a pathetic, cruel woman begging a waitress to save her crumbling facade.
Emily didn’t kneel to meet her. She stood tall, feeling the sharp sting on her cheek, and looked Vanessa dead in the eyes.
“I don’t forgive you,” Emily said quietly, but loud enough for the front rows to hear. “And I don’t work for you.”
Daniel turned toward the kitchen doors. “Mr. Vance!” he called out.
The hotel manager, a sweating, portly man who had been hiding behind a floral arrangement, scurried out, wringing his hands. “Yes, Mr. Sterling! How can I help? I assure you, this server will be terminated immediately…”
“If you fire her, I will buy this hotel tomorrow morning and fire you by lunch,” Daniel stated, his tone completely matter-of-fact.
Mr. Vance froze, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. “I… yes, sir. Understood, sir.”
“Good,” Daniel said. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a thick checkbook, and clicked a silver pen. He scribbled a series of numbers, signed it, and ripped it out. He handed it to Vance.
“This covers the cost of the ballroom, the catering, and the open bar for the rest of the night. The wedding is canceled, but there is no reason the food should go to waste.” Daniel raised his voice, addressing the stunned crowd. “To anyone who doesn’t share the bride’s enthusiasm for abusing the working class, please, stay. Eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves. The Sterling company is footing the bill.”
He turned back to Emily. “You’re bleeding.”
Emily touched her hand to her cheek. A tiny shard of glass from the initial spray had nicked her jawline, leaving a thin trail of red.
“Come with me,” Daniel said gently. “Let’s get that looked at.”
Before Emily could process what was happening, the billionaire groom placed a warm, steadying hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the screaming bride, the fainting mother, and the sea of flashing camera phones.
They walked through the heavy double doors into the quiet sanctuary of the staff corridor. The contrast was jarring. The velvet-lined walls of the ballroom were replaced by sterile white tiles, the smell of roasting tenderloin, and the chaotic hum of the catering kitchen. As they entered, the kitchen staff stopped dead. Cooks holding tongs, dishwashers with soapy hands, and fellow servers all stared in absolute shock as the groom escorted their battered coworker into the back.
“Where is your break room?” Daniel asked a stunned sous-chef.
The chef pointed a shaking finger toward the back hallway. Daniel nodded in thanks and led Emily into the small, brightly lit room. It smelled faintly of old coffee and industrial cleaner. He pulled out a cheap plastic chair and gestured for her to sit.
Emily collapsed into the chair, the adrenaline suddenly draining from her body, leaving her trembling and exhausted. She covered her face with her hands, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
Daniel moved to the small first-aid kit mounted on the wall. He opened it, pulled out an antiseptic wipe and a small bandage, and pulled up a chair opposite her.
“May I?” he asked, holding up the wipe.
Emily lowered her hands, looking at him with a mixture of awe and absolute confusion. “You don’t have to do this, sir. I can do it.”
“My name is Daniel,” he said softly, ignoring her protest and gently dabbing the cut on her jaw. The antiseptic stung, but his touch was surprisingly light and practiced. “And I want to do it. I am incredibly sorry for what just happened to you in there.”
“You didn’t hit me,” Emily pointed out, wincing slightly.
“No, but I was about to marry the woman who did. That makes me responsible by association. I should have seen who she really was much sooner.” He pressed the small bandage over the cut, his dark eyes studying her face. The red handprint was still stark against her pale skin. “You handled yourself with more grace in ten seconds than Vanessa has shown in her entire life.”
“I needed the job,” Emily admitted, the honesty slipping out before she could catch it. “If I talk back, I get fired. If I get fired, I can’t pay my mom’s medical bills. It’s that simple.”
Daniel leaned back, his expression turning thoughtful. “Medical bills?”
Emily looked away, suddenly embarrassed by her own vulnerability. “It’s nothing. Just… life. We all have things we have to deal with. Getting slapped by a billionaire’s daughter wasn’t on today’s bingo card, but I’ll survive.”
“What kind of medical bills?” Daniel pressed, his voice losing its corporate edge, replaced by genuine curiosity.
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