Victoria watched closely. There was no greed in her movements. Only hunger — deep, aching hunger.
Under the table, Victoria sent a message to her assistant: Claire, bring clean clothes. For a child.
When Maya finally looked up, she found no judgment in Victoria’s gaze. Only a quiet warmth. Something in her chest loosened.
When they finished, Victoria stood and extended her hand.
“Come with me,” she said softly. “I want to help you.”
The maître d’ stood speechless. A few guests began clapping hesitantly as Victoria guided Maya out of the restaurant.
What had started as an ordinary lunch became a turning point neither of them had planned.
The chauffeur opened the car door. Maya sat stiffly beside Victoria, staring at her hands.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“To my home,” Victoria replied. “But you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
Home. The word felt foreign on Maya’s tongue.
They arrived at iron gates that opened to reveal manicured gardens and a towering mansion. Maya’s breath caught.
Claire was waiting at the entrance, immaculate and unsmiling.
“This is the girl?” she asked coolly.
“Yes,” Victoria answered calmly. “She needs a shower, warm clothes, and dinner.”