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The manager, not wasting a second, brushed past them without so much as a glance and rushed straight to Anya. He grabbed a stack of crisp, white tablecloths from a nearby stand and handed them to her. “Ms. Anya, please—your dress…”
Zara spun around, and exploded. “Are you fucking serious? My fiancé is bleeding, and you’re worried about her dress?”
The manager slowly straightened, turning to face her. His expression was cold, professional—merciless. “That bottle wasworth fifty thousand dollars, Ms. Fox. The bill will be sent to your home.”
Zara froze, her mouth falling open. “Fifty thousand? Are you fucking serious? How dare—”
“And if you don’t pay and leave the premises immediately,” he cut her off without blinking, “we’ll be calling the police. You’ll also be charged with destruction of property and endangering a client.”
Zara stood there, trembling with rage and humiliation. But for once, she had no comeback. She tightened her grip on Mark’s injured hand, and without another word, dragged him out of the restaurant.
Silence followed their exit. The shattered glass still glinted on the table, wine pooling on the floor like spilled blood.
The manager turned back to Anya, his voice softening. “I’m terribly sorry about this, Ms. Anya.”
But Anya barely registered his words. After everything with Dante, she had no energy left for Zara.
She gave a small, dismissive wave, scooped up her purse, and walked out of the restaurant without a word.
The moment the door shut behind her, the manager picked up the phone. His fingers moved fast, his voice clipped as he relayed every detail of what had just happened.
On the other end, Charles sat frozen for a moment, absorbing the report. Then his hand curled into a fist, shaking.
Charles, trembling with rage, dialed another number.
“Luca,” Charles snapped after recounting the entire ordeal, his voice sharp with fury. “They don’t deserve to live in this city. I don’t care how you do it. Get them out of my daughter's sight.”
“Consider it done by tomorrow, Uncle,” Luca said, his voice low and cold. His eyes even more determined to protect Anya.
***
Anya returned home hours later, soaked in silence and exhaustion. She didn’t look okay. Not even close.
Charles was pacing in the hallway, his phone in one hand, his other raking through his hair. The second he saw her, the worry on his face deepened. He dropped everything and rushed toward her.
“Anya. Are you alright? What happened?”
She didn’t speak. She didn’t speak. She simply walked into his arms and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest.
Charles wrapped his arms around her, instinctively protective. His hand cradled the back of her head, stroking her hair in slow, calming motions.
Then came the broken whisper, barely audible. “Dad... I broke up with Dante.”
Charles froze.
His arms didn’t loosen, but his heart stilled for a moment, caught off guard.
Anya slowly pulled back. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her voice cracked with every word. “I met him today… tried to explain. He didn’t want to listen. So I ended it. I don’t want anything to do with him again.”
“Alright,” Charles said at once, his voice firm. “There won’t be anything between you and him anymore. No one will ever bring up his and your relationship again. Don’t worry, Anya. It’s all over now.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she mumbled softly.
“So you’re not getting married anymore?” Charles added, there was a touch of concern beneath his words.
Anya shook her head in quick denial, as though the very thought pained her. “I won’t get married. I need to sort out my life first… I won’t rush into marriage with anyone anymore.”
Charles nodded slowly, his expression softening. “Good,” he said quietly, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, almost a sigh in his voice. “That’s alright. Take all the time you need—until you meet the right person.”