Chapter 4 - The Penthouse in Mayfair
The private elevator opened directly into the marble vestibule of a triplex penthouse overlooking Hyde Park.
The space was breathtaking—soaring floor-to-ceiling glass walls, soft neutral textiles, and an understated elegance devoid of flashy ostentation. What caught Claire’s eye immediately was the layout: wide, unobstructed pathways, rounded furniture corners, textured flooring transitions, and tactile markers along the baseboards.
The entire residence had been customized with exquisite architectural care for someone with visual impairment.
"Claire."
Elena stood in the sunlit drawing room, dressed in a soft cream cashmere sweater and dark tailored trousers. Her white cane rested beside a velvet armchair, but she navigated the room with effortless familiarity, using the subtle texture of the rugs to guide her steps.
"Elena," Claire said, stepping forward. "Your home is beautiful."
"Thank you. My brother designed the interior layout when I lost my sight five years ago," Elena smiled warmly, extending her hand.
Claire took it, feeling the genuine warmth in Elena’s grip.
"Sit with me," Elena said, gesturing toward the low sofa. On the glass table sat a silver teapot, porcelain cups, and fresh lemon slices. "Real tea this time. No citrus vodka, I promise."
Claire let out a quiet laugh, feeling the tension in her chest begin to ease. "That’s definitely an upgrade."
"I heard what Martin did after I left," Elena said, her expression turning serious as she poured the tea with practiced muscle memory, using the tip of her index finger against the rim to gauge the level. "He fired you."
"It wasn't your fault," Claire replied, taking the delicate teacup. "Martin has been looking for an excuse to replace staff with cheaper part-timers for months. Vanessa Hart just gave him the theater he wanted."
"Vanessa Hart is currently learning that an audience of millions cannot buy back a ruined reputation," a deep, authoritative voice resonated from the archway.
Claire turned.
Roman De Luca stood in the doorway. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his mid-forearms. Even in a relaxed posture, his presence commanded the room like an approaching storm.
Elena turned her head toward the sound of his footsteps. "Roman. Have you met Claire?"
"I am meeting her now," Roman said, crossing the marble floor.
He stopped three paces from Claire and extended his right hand. His dark eyes locked onto hers with piercing, clinical appraisal.
"Claire Dawson," Roman said. "Thank you for what you did for my sister yesterday."
Claire stood and took his hand. His palm was callused, his grip firm and steady. "Anyone with a shred of decency would have done the same, Mr. De Luca."
"You would be surprised how few people possess a shred of decency when six million followers and a threatened manager are watching," Roman countered.
He pulled a leather folder from beneath his arm and laid it on the table between them.
"My legal team conducted a standard background inquiry this morning to ensure you suffered no unlawful retaliation from Martin Blake," Roman continued smoothly. "We discovered two things: first, Blake has blacklisted your employment profile across three major restaurant hospitality groups in the city."
Claire felt her stomach drop. "He did what?"
May you like
"He filed a formal report alleging gross misconduct and customer altercation," Roman explained, his voice entirely devoid of panic. "Second, we discovered that for the past four years, you have maintained an active commercial monitoring alert on a specific property at 14 Russell Street, Bloomsbury."
Claire froze, her teacup trembling in her hand. "The Paper Lantern."
