Skyscrapers and Starlight – The Dragon’s Daughter
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 15: Breaking Bread
Part 1: The Summit
Le Ciel, Manhattan’s most exclusive restaurant, floated forty-five stories above the city like a crystal palace. The private dining room’s panoramic windows reflected the city lights like scattered diamonds as New York’s most powerful families gathered around a table worth more than most homes.
Alexandra, resplendent in midnight blue Valentino, sat between her father and husband, a bridge between two worlds. Chen Wei-Ming had exchanged his battle armor of bespoke suits for more relaxed evening wear, though his Patek Philippe still gleamed like armor in the candlelight.
“The ’82 Lafite, I think,” Eleanor Drake suggested to the hovering sommelier, her dragon brooch catching the light. “A peace offering deserves proper celebration.”
Lord Rothschild’s eyebrows rose appreciatively. “My dear Eleanor, you continue to surprise.”
“Speaking of surprises,” Elizabeth added, studying her menu with practiced nonchalance, “that little scene in the conference room was rather spectacular.”
Alexandra felt her father stiffen slightly beside her. Marcus’s hand found hers under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her palm.
“Perhaps,” Chen Wei-Ming said carefully, “we could avoid discussing business matters this evening?”
“An excellent suggestion,” Alexandra smiled, squeezing Marcus’s hand. “Though I must know, Father – how did you enjoy your first New York sunset from Drake Tower?”
“Almost as breathtaking as Victoria Peak,” he admitted, a hint of his earlier warmth returning. “Though the jade room was a rather pointed touch, daughter.”
“I learned from the best,” she winked, as the wine began to flow.
The sommelier poured the Lafite with practiced grace, the ruby liquid catching candlelight like liquid garnets. Alexandra watched her father inhale the bouquet, his expression softening at the familiar ritual.
“Your grandmother’s favourite,” he murmured in Mandarin. “She would have approved of this evening.”
“Especially the jade cufflinks,” Alexandra smiled, noting how Marcus unconsciously touched them at the mention. “She always said jade carries memories.”
Eleanor Drake, ever the perfect hostess, steered the conversation toward safer waters. “Chen Wei-Ming, you simply must tell us about Alexandra as a child. I hear she was quite the handful in the garden.”
“Handful?” Her father’s laugh held genuine warmth. “She once convinced our entire security team she’d seen a real dragon in the koi pond. Had them searching for hours.”
“While I ‘borrowed’ Father’s phone to order ice cream for everyone,” Alexandra added, her eyes twinkling.
“At age six,” Chen Wei-Ming shook his head fondly. “I should have known then she’d be running empires one day.”
Lord Rothschild raised his glass. “To dragons in koi ponds, then. And daughters who exceed their fathers’ dreams.”
The crystal clinked like wind chimes as they toasted, Manhattan’s lights creating halos around them all.
Part 2: Uninvited Guests
The peaceful atmosphere of Le Ciel shattered like fine crystal as loud, entitled voices carried from the main entrance.
“What do you mean, our usual table is occupied?” james Harrisons’s voice held the particular arrogance of new money. “Do you know who I am?”
Alexandra felt Marcus tense beside her as Sophia Montgomery’s shrill tones joined in. “This is absolutely unacceptable. Daddy, tell them!”
Through the private dining room’s frosted glass panels, their silhouettes were visible – James with his arm around what appeared to be his latest conquest, Victoria Blackwood clinging to his arm. Sophia Montgomery hangning on her father’s sleeve, all of them radiating the special hostility of the recently humbled.
“Those peasants in the private room,” Victoria’s voice dripped venom, “they can’t possibly be more important than us. Look at them – probably some nouveau riche trying to play at our level.”
Chen Wei-Ming’s eyebrow arched perfectly as he sipped his Lafite. Lord Rothschild’s expression suggested he was watching particularly entertaining theatre.
“Did she just call the Dragon of Hong Kong ‘nouveau riche’?” Eleanor whispered to Elizabeth, loud enough to carry.
Robert Montgomery´s voice grew louder, more belligerent. “This is our restaurant. Our city. These… these nobodies need to learn their place.”
Alexandra’s hand found Marcus’s under the table, feeling his suppressed laughter. Her father, however, was starting to emit that particular energy that usually preceded corporate takeovers.
“Shall we enlighten them about their… mistake?” Alexandra asked softly, her smile promising delicious revenge.
Victoria Blackwood’s voice rose to new heights of entitlement. “Those people probably can’t even pronounce Lafite properly. James, darling, do something!”
“I demand to speak to the owner!” James slurred slightly, suggesting pre-dinner drinks. “These… these peasants are stealing our air!”
Chen Wei-Ming set his wine glass down with exquisite precision, the crystal making no sound against damask. His expression reminded Alexandra of moments before he’d collapsed entire corporations.
“Fascinating,” he murmured in Mandarin. “They seem unaware that I bought this restaurant last week.”
Lord Rothschild’s lips twitched. “Along with Robert Montgomery´s failing hedge fund, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Get security!” Victoria’s screech reached new octaves. “Drag them out like the dogs they are! This is our territory!”
Eleanor Drake’s hand went to her dragon brooch, her smile pure ice. “My dear, shall we educate them about… territory?”
Alexandra rose with fluid grace, midnight blue Valentino flowing like water. “Allow me, Father. Consider it… practice for future negotiations.”
Marcus’s eyes held dangerous amusement as he watched his wife glide toward the frosted glass doors, her Louboutins clicking like a countdown.
“Should we warn them?” Elizabeth asked nobody in particular.
“About facing both the Dragon of Hong Kong’s daughter and the Drake heir’s wife?” Lord Rothschild raised his glass. “Where would be the fun in that?”
The frosted glass doors parted silently as Alexandra emerged, the restaurant’s lighting creating a halo around her Valentino-clad form. Two security guards had materialized, their stance professional but uncertain given the wealth involved.
“This is outrageous!” James wobbled slightly. “These… these impostors need to be removed!”
“Immediately!” Victoria’s face was flushed with rage. “Do you know who we are?”
Alexandra’s smile was pure silk. “James Harrison. Victoria Blackwood. Mr. Montgomery. Sophia Montgomery. How… predictable to find you causing a scene.”
“You…” Victoria’s eyes narrowed, recognition dawning. “You’re that nobody consultant who—”
“Who owns this restaurant now,” Alexandra finished softly. “Along with several other things you once considered… yours.”
The security guards straightened imperceptibly, their uncertainty vanishing as they recognized the true power dynamic.
“Lies!” James lurched forward. “Security, remove this… this…”
“Mrs. Drake-Chen,” one guard supplied helpfully. “Owner of Le Ciel and daughter of—”
“I don’t care who she pretends to be!” Victoria’s voice reached hysteric levels. “This was our restaurant! Our place!”
She lunged forward, hand raised to strike Alexandra’s face. The sound of her palm cutting through air was like a whip—
Until it suddenly stopped.
The senior security guard’s move was fluid, professional. One moment Victoria’s hand was aimed at Alexandra’s cheek, the next she was face-down on Italian marble, her designer dress pooled around her like spilled wine.
“I believe,” Alexandra said softly, “that concludes our interaction for the evening.”
Part 3: The Price of Pride
Le Ciel’s elegant foyer erupted into chaos as Victoria Blackwood scrambled up from the marble floor, her perfect coiffure now decidedly askew, her Chanel dress bearing witness to her ungraceful descent.
“You… you…” she sputtered, mascara beginning to track down her cheeks. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? My father will—”
“Will what?” Alexandra’s voice carried just enough volume to reach the gathering crowd of Manhattan’s elite diners. “File for bankruptcy again? Or perhaps attempt another failed hostile takeover?”
James Harrison lurched forward, his face mottled with rage. “Security! I demand you arrest this woman for assault!”
The senior security guard – the one who had so efficiently introduced Victoria to the floor – cleared his throat. “Sir, the only assault attempted here was against Mrs. Drake-Chen, the owner of this establishment.”
“Drake?” Victoria’s voice cracked. “What do you mean Dra—”
She froze as Marcus appeared in the doorway behind his wife, those imperial jade cufflinks catching the light like green fire. Chen Wei-Ming and Lord Rothschild flanked him, their combined presence making the Montgomery contingent shrink visibly.
“Hello, Victoria. Hello Sophia. Mr. Montgomery.” Marcus said pleasantly. “James. I see you’re still working on those anger management issues.”
James’s face went from red to white so quickly it was almost impressive. “M-Marcus? But… but she’s…”
“My wife,” he finished, his hand finding Alexandra’s waist. “Though I believe you know her better as Alexandra Chen.”
Victoria’s shriek echoed off Le Ciel’s crystal chandeliers as reality crashed through her denial.
“Impossible! She’s nobody! Just some… some consultant who—”
“Who owns this restaurant,” Alexandra cut in smoothly, “along with the building your father’s office is in.” Her smile was pure silk as she made the smallest gesture with her hand.
The security team moved with practiced efficiency.
“You can’t do this!” Robert thrashed against the guard’s professional grip. “I’m Robert Montgomery! My family built this city!”
“Correction,” Lord Rothschild’s aristocratic voice carried clearly. “Your family borrowed money to lease small parts of it. Rather unsuccessfully, I might add.”
Victoria clawed at the marble floor as she was lifted to her feet. “Marcus! Tell them! Tell them who we are!”
“Oh, I think everyone knows exactly who you are now,” Marcus replied pleasantly, adjusting his jade cufflinks.
“This isn’t over!” she screeched as the guards guided them firmly toward the exit. “Daddy! Do something!”
Mr. Montgomery, who had fallen suspiciously quiet, merely stared at Chen Wei-Ming with the horrified recognition of a man seeing his financial doom personified.
“Your quarterly review is tomorrow, isn’t it?” Alexandra called after them, her voice honey-sweet. “Do give the board my regards.”
The elevator doors closed on Victoria’s final shriek of outrage, leaving only the faint scent of desperation and last season’s Chanel.
Le Ciel’s private dining room had transformed into an impromptu war room as coffee and cognac replaced the Lafite. Alexandra sat perched on the arm of Marcus’s chair, her Valentino catching city lights like captured stars.
“The signing gala,” Eleanor mused, studying the seating chart. “Two hundred of Manhattan’s finest, all waiting to witness history.”
“Plus the Asian contingent,” Elizabeth added. “The Drake Tower ballroom will be quite the powder keg of power.”
Chen Wei-Ming watched his daughter with newfound appreciation. “The timing is… precise.”
“Everything is arranged,” Alexandra confirmed, accepting a snifter of cognac from Marcus. “The contracts, the press, the demonstrations of the new technology—”
Her phone chimed softly. Wei’s message made her smile:
“All preparations proceeding as planned, young mistress. Though perhaps we should discuss the… timing?”
“Something amusing?” Lord Rothschild inquired.
“Just confirming details,” she replied smoothly, her fingers dancing across the screen. “Wei is nothing if not thorough.”
Marcus’s hand found hers, jade cufflinks catching candlelight. “Two days. Then everything changes.”
“Indeed,” Chen Wei-Ming raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”
None of them noticed Wei’s slight smile as he typed a simple memo, scheduled to be delivered at the height of the gala:
“By CEO’s order: Signing ceremony postponed 14 days. No further explanation required.”
Alexandra’s phone lit up with his confirmation:
“As you wished, young mistress. The dragon always knows when to hold its breath.”
