The Hidden Heiress Revenge – Betrayal Love and Justice
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 14: Predator´s Feast
Part 1: Culinary Chess
Le Bernardin’s private dining room glowed with understated elegance as Manhattan’s lights sparkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The ’82 Lafite Rothschild breathed in crystal decanters while Eric’s specially curated tasting menu unfolded like a gastronomic symphony.
Sophia, resplendent in Alexander McQueen, watched Dr. Kovač savour her langoustine with appreciative sophistication. Sebastian sat at her right, his jade cufflinks catching the intimate lighting as he shared a knowing smile with his wife.
“I must say,” Dr. Kovač dabbed her lips with French linen, “your press conference caused quite a stir in Frankfurt’s financial circles.”
“Merely the prelude,” Sebastian replied smoothly, “to a rather interesting month ahead.”
“Though perhaps not as interesting as Elizabeth’s expression when the ECB delegation arrived,” Sophia added, her smile dangerous over her wine glass. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Hermès silk quite that shade of pale.”
Lady Helena, seated further down the table, attempted to mask her laugh with a delicate cough.
“The market response has been… enthusiastic,” Dr. Kovač observed as servers presented the next course with balletic precision.
“Mmm,” Sophia’s smile held secrets, “though I suspect today’s trading was merely an overture.”
“An overture indeed,” Dr. Kovač agreed, appreciating the perfectly seared sea bass. “Though I must admit, the timing of our arrival was rather… theatrical.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic smile held just a touch of mischief. “Sometimes the best strategies require a certain dramatic flair.”
“Something your wife clearly understands,” the ECB chief’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Your entrance at Marcus’s merger announcement has become quite legendary in European banking circles.”
Sophia’s laugh held genuine warmth. “Though perhaps not as legendary as Marcus’s face when he realized what was happening.”
“Speaking of Marcus,” Lord Winchester interjected from his position near Dr. Kovač, “I heard his shares dropped another twelve percent after today’s announcement.”
“Fifteen,” Sophia corrected softly, accepting a perfect glass of Montrachet from the sommelier. “Though who’s counting?”
Lady Helena’s pearls rattled with barely suppressed delight as the next course arrived – butter-poached lobster that seemed to glow in the intimate lighting.
“The next month,” Dr. Kovač observed, “promises to be rather interesting for Manhattan’s financial community.”
“Particularly,” Sebastian added, his hand finding Sophia’s under the damask tablecloth, “for those who haven’t yet realized how the game has changed.”
Part 2: Culinary Chaos
The intimate atmosphere of Le Bernardin’s private dining room shattered as Marcus Thorne’s voice carried from the main entrance, loud enough to make the crystal decanters shiver.
“This is absolutely unacceptable!” His CEO confidence had clearly been fortified by several pre-dinner drinks. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
Olivia Ashworth-Thorne’s designer heels clicked aggressively across marble floors, accompanied by her brother Nathan Ashworth and their father, Robert Ashworth.
“Those tables,” Olivia’s voice dripped with inherited privilege, “are reserved for actual members of society, not… nouveau riche pretenders.”
Sophia’s smile turned lethal as she set down her Montrachet with elegant precision. Sebastian’s hand tightened slightly on hers under the damask tablecloth.
“The private dining room?” Nathan’s laugh held bitter mockery. “Please. That’s reserved for people who actually matter in this city.”
“Indeed,” Robert Ashworth added with aristocratic disdain. “Not for social climbing peasants who lucked into—”
His voice died as Dr. Kovač turned slightly in her chair, the ECB chief’s presence registering like a bucket of ice water.
“I believe,” Sophia’s voice carried that dangerous quiet that had once crashed merger announcements, “you were about to share your opinions on social standing?”
“Oh look,” Olivia’s sneer could have curdled the beurre blanc, “if it isn’t the party girl playing at business. Still crashing events above your station?”
Marcus, emboldened by scotch and wounded pride, stepped forward. “This is Le Bernardin, not some downtown cocktail bar. Perhaps you should try somewhere more… appropriate for your kind.”
“Our kind?” Sebastian’s voice carried that deadly aristocratic precision as he rose from his chair.
“Peasants,” Nathan Ashworth spat, his family’s banking dynasty pride fueling his rage. “Social climbing nobodies who—”
“Who just destroyed your market value?” Sophia suggested sweetly, remaining seated like a queen observing peasant rebellion.
“Who think they can buy their way into proper society,” Robert Ashworth continued, too drunk on privilege to notice Dr. Kovač’s increasingly dangerous expression. “You don’t belong here with your fake jade and borrowed—”
“Borrowed?” Lord Winchester’s voice could have frozen champagne as he stood. “Perhaps you’d care to explain that observation to the European Central Bank’s Chief of Financial Innovation?”
The color drained from Marcus’s face as he finally registered who else occupied the private dining room.
“Or better yet,” Sophia’s smile turned predatory, “explain it to the owner. Eric?” She raised one perfect eyebrow at the Michelin-starred chef who had appeared silently behind the intruders. “I believe these… individuals… were just leaving? Unless they’d prefer to discuss Bennett Capital’s rather interesting trading patterns with Dr. Kovač?”
Sophia rose with lethal grace, her Alexander McQueen gown flowing like liquid midnight as she faced her would-be accusers.
“Since we’re discussing appropriate places,” her smile could have frozen hellfire, “perhaps we should talk about where Bennett Capital’s funds really came from?”
Marcus’s face went from red to white in record time.
“Or,” she continued, moving closer with predatory elegance, “shall we discuss the algorithms you claimed to develop?”
Le Bernardin’s security team materialized silently, their black suits and earpieces a stark contrast to the restaurant’s refined décor.
“You little—” Olivia lunged forward, her Louboutins stumbling slightly from too much champagne. “You think you can threaten us? Do you know who we are?”
“Oh, darling,” Sophia’s laugh held genuine amusement. “I know exactly who you are. The question is… do you know who I am?”
“A worthless social climber who—” Olivia’s manicured hand swung toward Sophia’s face with drunken fury.
The crack of flesh meeting flesh never came. Instead, the security chief’s grip caught Olivia’s wrist mid-swing. Her momentum, combined with his defensive move, sent her sprawling across the marble floor, her designer dress hiking up most inappropriately.
Part 3: Culinary Consequences
The private dining room froze in tableau as Olivia Ashworth-Thorne sprawled inelegantly across Le Bernardin’s marble floor, her Valentino dress betraying far more than her social standing.
“How DARE you!” Robert Ashworth’s face turned an alarming shade of puce. “Do you have any idea—”
“Actually,” Dr. Kovač’s crisp European accent cut through his bluster, “I believe we all have a very clear idea of what just transpired.”
Nathan Ashworth lunged toward the security chief, only to find himself efficiently restrained by two more members of the team.
“This is assault!” Olivia shrieked from her undignified position. “I’ll have your licenses! I’ll have your jobs! I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Sophia’s voice carried that dangerous quiet that had once crashed merger announcements. “Release the security footage of you attempting to assault the CEO of Winchester Financial Solutions during a private dinner with the European Central Bank?”
Marcus Thorne, who had been trying to help his new bride up without further compromising her dignity, froze mid-motion.
“European… Central…” The words seemed to penetrate his scotch-addled brain one at a time.
“Oh yes,” Sebastian’s aristocratic smile could have cut diamonds. “Perhaps we should introduce our dinner guests properly?”
“This is preposterous!” Olivia screeched, struggling to regain her footing while maintaining what remained of her dignity. “Do you know who my father is?”
Sophia merely raised one perfect eyebrow, her slight hand gesture setting the security team in motion like a conductor starting a symphony.
“Remove them,” she said softly, turning back to her Montrachet with elegant dismissal.
“You can’t do this!” Marcus’s CEO composure completely shattered as two security guards gripped his arms. “I built Bennett Capital! I created—”
“Did you?” Sophia’s laugh held genuine amusement. “How fascinating. Tell me, which of my algorithms did you ‘create’ first?”
“Unhand me!” Robert Ashworth bellowed as he was expertly guided toward the exit. “This is outrageous! We’re the Ashworths of—”
“Of the rapidly declining banking dynasty?” Sebastian suggested smoothly. “How unfortunate about those recent market fluctuations.”
Nathan’s struggles against the security team grew more desperate. “You’ll regret this! When the board hears—”
“Oh, they’ll hear something quite interesting at tomorrow’s meeting,” Sophia purred, raising her wine glass in a mocking toast as the group was efficiently escorted out. “Though perhaps not what you’re expecting.”
Their increasingly hysterical protests faded down the corridor, leaving only the elegant calm of Le Bernardin’s private dining room.
As the chaos subsided, Sophia turned to Dr. Kovač with a dangerous smile. “Now, about that signing gala…”
“Ah yes,” the ECB chief’s eyes sparkled with appreciation. “In two days, correct?”
Sebastian’s jade cufflinks caught the intimate lighting as he leaned forward. “Though perhaps not quite as expected.”
“Sarah,” Sophia mused, swirling her Montrachet, “has perfect timing for such matters.”
“Your assistant?” Dr. Kovač raised an elegant eyebrow. “The one who handled the imperial jade delivery?”
“Mmm.” Sophia’s smile could have frozen champagne. “She has such a talent for… dramatic announcements.”
“Right at the peak,” Sebastian added smoothly, “when Marcus thinks his redemption is at hand.”
“When the champagne is flowing,” Sophia continued, “when the papers are ready…”
“She’ll simply step forward,” Sebastian’s voice held dangerous amusement, “and announce the delay.”
“Fourteen days,” Sophia purred. “No explanation beyond ‘CEO’s orders.'”
“Rather like watching a soufflé collapse,” Dr. Kovač observed, accepting a perfect glass of Sauternes.
“Though this time,” Sophia’s smile turned predatory, “the collapse will be rather more… permanent.”
The Manhattan skyline glittered beyond the windows like a constellation of possibilities as they raised their glasses to the chaos to come.
