Chapter 3

The next morning, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. I almost ignored it, but something made me answer.

"Ms. Lewis? Christopher Garcia." His voice was deep, authoritative—exactly how I remembered from yesterday's confrontation. "I'd like to discuss my brother's... indiscretions."

I gripped the phone tighter. "There's nothing to discuss."

"I disagree. Dinner tonight. La Maison, eight o'clock. Private dining room." It wasn't a request.

"Mr. Garcia, I don't think—"

"Eight o'clock," he repeated, then hung up.

I stared at my phone, torn between indignation and curiosity. La Maison was the most exclusive restaurant in the city. Even William had needed to book months in advance when he'd taken me there for my birthday.

I shouldn't go. Whatever Christopher Garcia wanted, it couldn't be good for me. And yet...

By seven-fifty, I was walking through La Maison's ornate entrance, wearing the only designer dress I owned—a midnight blue sheath that had cost a month's salary. The maître d' recognized the Garcia name immediately.

"Mr. Garcia is waiting for you, Ms. Lewis."

The private dining room was intimate—a single table draped in white linen, soft lighting from crystal chandeliers, a wall of windows overlooking the city skyline. Christopher stood as I entered, his tall frame impeccably suited in charcoal gray that probably cost more than my car.

"Ms. Lewis," he said, pulling out my chair. "Thank you for coming."

I took my seat, keeping my back straight, chin lifted. "You didn't leave me much choice."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I find directness saves time."

The waiter appeared with champagne, pouring two glasses before melting away. Christopher raised his glass slightly.

"To new beginnings," he said.

I left my glass untouched. "What do you want, Mr. Garcia?"

He set his glass down, studying me with those penetrating eyes. "To make amends for my brother's behavior."

"You can't."

"I can try." He reached into his jacket and withdrew an envelope, sliding it across the pristine tablecloth. "This should cover any inconvenience."

I didn't touch it. "Inconvenience? Is that what you call public humiliation and losing my job?"

"Open it," he insisted.

Reluctantly, I picked up the envelope and peeked inside. The figure on the check made me gasp.

"This is obscene," I whispered, dropping it as if it burned my fingers.

"It's fair compensation."

Heat rushed to my face. "You think you can buy me off? Put a price tag on my dignity?"

"I think money solves problems," Christopher replied coolly. "It won't erase what happened, but it will ensure your financial stability while you... recover."

"I don't need your charity." I pushed the envelope back toward him. "Or your pity."

Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or grudging respect. "It's neither charity nor pity, Ms. Lewis. It's accountability. The Garcia family pays its debts."

"I'm not a debt to be paid," I said, my voice rising despite my efforts to remain composed. "I'm a person who was betrayed by two people I trusted. No amount of money changes that."

Christopher leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "Then what do you want?"

The question caught me off guard. What did I want? Revenge? Justice? To turn back time?

"I want my job back," I said finally, surprising myself with the words.

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Your job? At Garcia Corporation?"

"Yes. I earned that position. I was good at it. William had no right to take it from me."

Christopher studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached for his champagne, taking a deliberate sip.

"Done," he said simply.

I blinked. "What?"

"You'll return to your position. Effective immediately."

"Just like that?"

A cold smile curved his lips. "I've assumed control of the marketing division as of this morning. Among other things. William's... recent decisions have raised questions about his judgment."

I felt a flutter of satisfaction at the thought of William losing power to his brother, followed immediately by guilt. Despite everything, some small, pathetic part of me still cared what happened to him.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

Christopher's gaze was steady, almost predatory. "Let's just say I find waste... offensive. You're talented, Ms. Lewis. The company would be foolish to lose you over my brother's personal failings."

Something in his tone made me wonder if there was more to it, but before I could press further, he signaled the waiter.

"Now," he said, his voice softening marginally, "shall we order? The chef here prepares an excellent coq au vin."

I shook my head. "I should go."

"Without dinner?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Mr. Garcia, you've offered me my job back, and I've accepted. That concludes our business."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish. I'll see you at the office tomorrow, Ms. Lewis."

As I stood to leave, he added, "And Victoria?"

The sound of my first name on his lips sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.

"Yes?"

"Wear something battle-ready. I suspect tomorrow won't be easy."

His warning proved prophetic. The next morning, I arrived at Garcia Corporation with my head high, ignoring the startled looks and hushed whispers as I swiped my newly reactivated access card.

I made it to my office—door unlocked, nameplate restored—and began unpacking the few personal items I'd brought. My hands trembled slightly as I arranged my desk, hyperaware of the stares from the open doorway.

"Well, well," a familiar voice drawled. "Look who crawled back."

Chloe stood in my doorway, resplendent in a designer outfit I recognized from the last fashion week spread—something I could never afford on my salary. Her neck and wrists glittered with jewelry that I strongly suspected had come from William.

"Hello, Chloe," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Can I help you with something?"

She sauntered into my office, trailing her manicured fingers along my desk. "Just checking on you. It must be so hard, coming back to where everyone knows you weren't good enough."

I continued unpacking my box, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me rattled. "Is there something specific you needed?"

"Just wanted to let you know," she leaned in, her voice dropping to a stage whisper, "William and I are getting married next spring. We're thinking cherry blossoms for the theme. So much more original than boring white roses, don't you think?"

The jab hit its mark—white roses had been my wedding flowers—but I kept my expression neutral. "Congratulations. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "You won't last a week here, Victoria. Everyone knows you're only back because Christopher pities you."

"Is that what everyone knows?" a deep voice interjected from the doorway.

We both turned to find Christopher leaning against the frame, his expression dangerously calm.

"Perhaps," he continued, straightening to his full, imposing height, "everyone should know that Ms. Lewis is here because she's valuable to this company. Unlike some recent additions to our extended family."

Chloe's face flushed scarlet. She opened her mouth to respond, but Christopher cut her off with a glacial smile.

"Ms. Nguyen, I believe my brother is looking for you. Something about approving your new... position."

The emphasis he placed on the word left no doubt about his opinion of her relationship with William. Chloe's lips pressed into a thin line as she brushed past him, shooting me a venomous glare before disappearing down the hallway.

Christopher's eyes found mine, a silent question in them. Are you alright?

I nodded slightly, though my heart was racing. He held my gaze a moment longer, something unreadable passing through his expression before he turned to leave.

"Mr. Garcia," I called after him, surprising myself.

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been a genuine smile. "Don't thank me yet, Ms. Lewis. The day is young."

As he walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what game Christopher Garcia was playing—and why, despite everything, I felt more alive in his presence than I had in months with William.