Chapter 3 - THE DINNER FIONA WAS NEVER INVITED TO
Damian drove home with Fiona in the passenger seat, but the silence between them felt wider than the highway.
She had agreed to ride with him only because her old car had begun making a grinding sound near the apartment building.
She refused to let him call a driver.
She refused to let him send a mechanic until Carlos insisted the wheel bearing sounded dangerous.
Even then, she accepted only because the car needed repair, not because Damian offered.
That distinction hurt more than he expected.
Halfway home, he said, "Why was Brenda watching you?"
Fiona kept her eyes on the window.
"Ask Brenda."
"I'm asking you."
"And I'm tired of being the person who has to explain your family to you."
Damian tightened his hands on the steering wheel.
"Fair."
Fiona finally looked at him.
She seemed almost surprised he had not defended himself.
"How long have you known she was following me?" he asked.
"I didn't."
"But you weren't surprised."
"Nothing Brenda does surprises me anymore."
"What has she done?"
Fiona looked away again.
"We are not doing this in the car."
"Then tonight."
"You have a lender call at seven."
Damian glanced at her.
"How do you know my schedule?"
She laughed softly.
"I used to build your schedules, Damian."
The memory landed painfully.
Before assistants and chiefs of staff, Fiona had kept his life in a spiral notebook.
She had remembered every meeting.
Every bill.
Every promise.
He had stopped noticing when she stopped doing it.
"I canceled the call," he said.
Fiona's face did not change.
"For one night?"
He heard everything hidden inside the question.
"For tonight."
She nodded once.
"Then maybe we'll talk."
When they reached the estate, two catering trucks were parked near the service entrance.
Fiona closed her eyes.
"Of course."
"What is this?" Damian asked.
"Brenda's dinner."
"Again?"
"She hosts them whenever you're away."
"Using my house?"
Fiona gave him a flat look.
"Our house, technically."
The correction embarrassed him.
They entered through the garage.
Music drifted from the dining room.
A florist was arranging white roses on the sideboard.
Two servers carried silver trays past them without realizing Damian had arrived.
Brenda appeared at the end of the hall in a dark green dress.
Her expression flickered when she saw Fiona beside him.
"You're both back."
Damian looked at the dining room.
"Who are these people?"
"Friends."
"Whose friends?"
"Mine. Mother's. A few people from the museum board."
"Did you ask Fiona before inviting them?"
Brenda laughed.
"Why would I need to ask Fiona?"
The hallway went silent.
A server slowed his steps.
Fiona stared at Brenda with exhausted disbelief.
Damian answered quietly.
"Because it is her home."
Brenda's cheeks reddened.
"I know that."
"Do you?"
Gertrude entered from the sitting room.
"What is happening?"
"Damian is apparently angry that we invited friends to dinner."
"I am asking why my wife is treated like a guest in her own house."
Gertrude stiffened.
"No one treats Fiona like a guest."
Fiona let out a short laugh.
Everyone looked at her.
"Sorry," she said.
"That was involuntary."
Gertrude's face went cold.
"There is no reason to be disrespectful."
Fiona nodded.
"You're right."
She set her handbag on a console table.
"There has never been a reason."
Brenda crossed her arms.
"If you're going to make everyone uncomfortable again, maybe you should eat upstairs."
Damian's head turned.
The words had come too easily.
Practiced.
Normal.
Fiona's shoulders went rigid.
Damian looked at Brenda.
"Again?"
Brenda blinked.
"What?"
"You said again."
"It's an expression."
"No."
His voice was quiet enough to make everyone listen harder.
"It isn't."
Brenda looked toward Gertrude.
Her mother stepped in immediately.
"Damian, this is absurd."
"Is it?"
He walked into the dining room.
Twelve places had been set.
He counted.
One for Brenda.
One for Gertrude.
Ten for guests.
No place for Fiona.
No place for him either, but everyone believed he would be away.
That explained his absence.
It did not explain hers.
"Where does Fiona sit?" he asked.
No one answered.
He turned to the catering manager.
"Where were you instructed to seat Mrs. O'Connor?"
The manager's face drained.
"Sir, I was given a guest list."
"Was her name on it?"
"No, sir."
Damian turned back to Brenda.
"Cancel dinner."
Brenda stared at him.
"You cannot be serious."
"Very."
"People are already arriving."
"Then tell them there was a family emergency."
"This is humiliating."
Fiona spoke before Damian could.
"Don't cancel it."
He looked at her.
"Fiona."
"Don't."
She met his eyes.
"If you cancel everything now, Brenda will spend the next ten years telling everyone I destroyed her evening because I was jealous."
Brenda opened her mouth.
Fiona raised one hand.
"Don't bother."
Her voice had changed.
The softness was gone.
"I know the script."
She turned to the catering manager.
"Please continue."
Then she looked at Brenda.
"I won't be joining you."
Brenda smiled with satisfaction.
Fiona was not finished.
"Because I'm leaving."
Damian's chest tightened.
"Leaving for where?"
"A hotel."
"Why?"
Fiona stared at him.
"Because I need one night in a building where people are paid to let me sit at the table."
No one moved.
Fiona picked up her handbag and walked upstairs.
Damian started after her.
His phone rang.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
Then Martin's name flashed across the screen.
Damian answered.
"This better matter."
Martin's voice was tense.
"It does."
Damian watched Fiona disappear at the top of the stairs.
"Talk."
"We restored part of the deleted access log."
Damian went still.
"Who opened Fiona's signature file?"
"The login came from your estate network."
"Which device?"
There was a pause.
"A laptop registered to your mother."
Damian looked across the hall at Gertrude.
She was standing beside Brenda.
Both women were watching him.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Anything else?"
Martin exhaled.
"The same device accessed the community development reserve portal three times this week."
Damian's eyes stayed on his mother.
Gertrude lifted her chin as though daring him to say something.
"Freeze the family-office credentials," Damian said.
"Already done."
"Do not restore them for anyone without my written authorization."
"Understood."
Damian ended the call.
Brenda spoke first.
"What now?"
He looked at her.
"Where is Mother's laptop?"
Gertrude's face changed.
Barely.
But enough.
"In my room," she said.
"Bring it to me."
"Excuse me?"
"Your laptop."
Gertrude's voice sharpened.
"You do not order me around."
"Then I'll have corporate security collect it."
Brenda stepped forward.
"Damian, you're acting insane."
He looked at his sister.
"Someone used that laptop to forge Fiona's signature on a four-hundred-eighty-thousand-dollar transfer."
Brenda's face went blank.
Gertrude gripped the back of a chair.
"That is ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"Fiona probably did it herself."
Damian stared at his mother.
The speed of the accusation told him more than the words.
"How would Fiona use your laptop without your password?"
Gertrude opened her mouth.
No answer came.
Brenda jumped in.
"You leave your password written in the desk drawer."
Damian turned to her slowly.
"Interesting."
Brenda realized too late what she had said.
"What?"
"I didn't know that."
Her face tightened.
Damian stepped closer.
"But you did."
The doorbell rang.
The first dinner guest had arrived.
No one moved to answer it.
Then a second sound came from upstairs.
A suitcase rolling across hardwood.
Fiona appeared at the top of the staircase with one medium-sized case.
Damian looked at her.
"Please don't go yet."
She stopped.
"Why?"
He glanced at his mother and sister.
Then back at his wife.
"Because I think someone in this house is trying to frame you for stealing from my company."
Fiona's face went pale.
Brenda shouted before anyone else could speak.
"That is insane!"
Fiona looked at her.
Then at Gertrude.
Gertrude would not meet her eyes.
The doorbell rang again.
Fiona slowly set the suitcase upright.
May you like
"Then maybe," she said, "we should finally have the dinner nobody wanted me at."
