The Forgotten Grandson

Chapter 7

Angela stood in front of Damien outside the big mansion. Both of her hands pressed against his chest to stop him from walking away.

“Listen to yourself,” she said. “You’re going to kill him right now? You’re the new head of the Delaney Company. You have more money than most people will ever see. You’re about to join a group that can make you stronger than almost anyone. Why throw all of that away on one quick fight? Make the revenge slow. Make it hurt. Take everything from him piece by piece so he feels it every single day.”

Damien’s anger cooled almost at once. She was right. Saul had spent years making his life small and hard. A fast death was too kind. Saul deserved to watch everything he owned get taken away slowly.

Just then Damien’s stomach let out a loud growl. He had not eaten since the meal he cooked for Courtney earlier that day. Someone else had eaten that food while he walked home alone in the cold.

Angela heard the sound and raised one eyebrow.

“You need food,” she said. She looked at his dirty, wrinkled clothes. “And new clothes. But food first.” She held out the keys to the Rolls Royce. “I told you the car would be yours if you listened. You listened.”

Damien stared at the keys in her hand. Part of him still waited for someone to jump out and say the whole night was a bad joke.

“My driver’s licence got towed away with my old car,” he said. “You drive.”

Angela smiled a little. She knew that as the new head of the Delaney Company he could drive without a licence and no police officer would dare stop him. But she also knew he had already taken in more big news than most people could handle in a year. She tossed the keys to him anyway.

“Drive,” she said. “You need to get used to it.”

They got into the car. Angela typed an address into the screen on the dashboard. Damien drove in silence. The big car felt strange under his hands. It was too smooth and quiet compared to his old broken-down car. After a while the streets started to look familiar. When they pulled up in front of Dame’s Court, he understood why.

It was the same fancy restaurant where everything had fallen apart earlier that night.

They stepped out of the car. The same valet from before hurried over. The moment he saw Damien his face twisted into a mean grin.

“You again?” the valet laughed. “Let me guess. You took out a loan to rent this car, right? And that woman? She’s an escort you hired so you could look important?”

Angela’s eyes went cold.

“What did you just call me?” she asked.

The valet kept laughing. “Calm down, sweetheart. I’m doing you a favour. No matter how much he paid you, you can do better than this fake. Come with me instead. I’ll pay you double.”

Something sharp twisted in Damien’s chest. He could take insults aimed at himself. He had taken them all night. But hearing someone talk about Angela that way made his hands curl into fists.

He stepped forward.

“You’ve been running your mouth since the first time I saw you,” Damien said. His voice was low and hard. “Now you’ve gone too far. Apologise to her.”

The valet and the other workers nearby burst out laughing.

“Or what?” the valet asked, still grinning like he had already won.

Angela moved fast. She grabbed Damien’s arm and pulled him toward the entrance of the restaurant.

“Let’s just go inside,” she said in a quiet voice. “It wouldn’t look good for the new head of a huge company to get into a street fight with a valet.”

Damien let her pull him away. He was tired of fighting for one night.

Angela glanced back at the Rolls Royce. “I’ll be right back. I need to make sure they don’t scratch the car.”

He knew she was not only worried about the car. He watched her walk back outside and disappear around the corner. Whatever she planned to say or do to the valet, he doubted the man would enjoy it.

Inside the restaurant the bright lights and soft music felt the same as earlier. Damien had only taken a few steps when a sharp, familiar voice cut through the air.

“What are you doing here again? Wasn’t one round of embarrassment enough for you?”

It was the same hostess from before. She stared at him with open hate, as if his presence dirtied the whole place.

“You damn pauper,” she said, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. “You know you can’t afford to eat here. Are you trying to steal? That must be it. You’re casing the place.”

Damien looked at her. He still did not understand why this woman who did not even know him hated him so much.

“I am not a thief,” he said quietly.

Her eyes were wild. “Then why do you keep coming back? Your kind doesn’t belong here. Go to some cheap diner and eat greasy food. That is where you belong. Get out!”

The noise brought the manager out from the back. She was a tall woman in an elegant dark dress. She walked toward them with calm steps. Damien could not help noticing how she moved. She had a strong, graceful body and a face that looked almost too perfect. She smelled lightly of jasmine.

“What’s going on here?” the manager asked.

The hostess stood up straighter, sure that her boss would take her side.

“Miss Abigail, this man is not a real customer,” the hostess said. “He’s just a poor man who walked in off the street. He can’t even afford our cheapest meal.”

Abigail looked at Damien. She had chosen the hostess carefully and expected better manners from her. She did not like the rude tone.

“How do you know he isn’t a customer?” Abigail asked.

The hostess looked shocked that her boss would even question her.

“Miss Abigail, just look at his clothes,” she said. “Look how dirty and worn they are. Is this the kind of person we usually let in?”

Abigail had noticed Damien’s rough clothes. But she was the kind of person who gave people a fair chance. Maybe the man had been in a fight and simply needed a good meal. Something about him pulled at her attention. He looked out of place, yes, but he also stood tall and calm in a way that most men in expensive suits never managed.

“It doesn’t matter what a customer is wearing,” Abigail said clearly. “We accept all paying customers.”

The hostess opened her mouth to argue, but Abigail raised one hand and stopped her.

Damien stood there in silence. A few hours ago this same restaurant had thrown him out like trash. Now the manager herself was defending his right to stay. The change felt strange and heavy at the same time.

Angela still had not returned from outside. Damien wondered what she was doing to the valet. Part of him hoped it was painful.

Abigail turned her full attention to him. Her eyes were curious and steady.

“Would you like a table, sir?” she asked.

Damien met her gaze. For the first time that night, someone in this building was looking at him without hate or pity.

“Yes,” he said. “I would.”