Too Late, Mr. Billionaire

Chapter7

Anyta

As I stepped into the grand dining hall, I was struck by the warm glow of the chandeliers. The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses and the rich aroma of wine, all highlighted by the gentle hum of conversation. The long tables were neatly set, with crisp white linen, sparkling crystal, and silverware that shone like it had just been polished.

It was exactly as I remembered it. And yet, walking through those doors again felt like stepping into a battlefield.

Every head turned when I entered. Some faces lit with curiosity, others with recognition. Whispers followed me like shadows, brushing against my skin until I almost laughed.

They hadn’t changed. The Ashbournes still thrived on gossip and drama, and tonight, I was their entertainment.

I walked with steady steps, heels clicking against the marble floor, my black dress hugging my figure tight. I carried myself the way I had taught myself over the years—like a woman who belonged, even if the world swore she didn’t.

At the far end of the table sat Leonard Ashbourne, Everett’s father. The patriarch. His white hair was combed back neatly, his presence commanding even without a word. His sharp eyes landed on me, narrowing just slightly, but he didn’t flinch. He simply leaned back in his chair and raised a brow.

Beside him was Grandma Jo, dressed in lavender silk, her warm smile already waiting for me. For the first time that night, I felt a flicker of comfort. At least one person in this house was glad I had returned.

Siena sat a few seats down, her emerald gown shimmering as she fidgeted with her fork. She refused to look at me, her face turned toward the woman beside her, but I knew she had felt me step in.

And then, there was Everett.

Seated at the head of the table, he looked every inch the perfect heir—broad shoulders wrapped in a dark suit, eyes cold but alert, jaw set in a way that spoke of control. He didn’t move as I approached. His gaze followed me though, steady, sharp, like a blade pressed against my skin.

A waiter guided me to an empty chair just opposite him. Of course. They wanted me directly in his line of sight.

I sat down slowly, adjusting the skirt of my dress as though I had all the time in the world. My heart raced beneath my calm exterior, but I didn’t let it show. I couldn’t afford to.

The conversations around the table softened, some silenced completely, waiting for someone to break the tension. It was Leonard who did.

“Well,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet, “look who decided to grace us with her presence.”

A few chuckles scattered around the table. Some genuine, some forced.

“Anyta Rushmore,” he continued, his gaze never leaving me. “I would say welcome back, but I’m still deciding if you deserve the welcome.”

The words might have stung once. Tonight, they didn’t. I lifted my chin and smiled faintly. “Then take your time deciding, Mr. Ashbourne. I’m not here for your approval.”

A sharp intake of breath ran across the table. Siena’s fork clattered softly against her plate. Even Everett’s brows twitched, though his face stayed unreadable.

Leonard chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “I see Italy has sharpened your tongue.”

“Or maybe betrayal did,” I replied smoothly, my eyes flicking toward Siena for the briefest second.

That silenced him.

Before the moment could stretch further, Grandma Jo leaned forward with her soft, steady smile. “I, for one, am glad to see you, child. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. The years away have suited you.”

Warmth bloomed in my chest at her words. “Thank you, Grandma Jo,” I said, my voice softening despite myself.

She reached across the table, patting the air as if she could touch my hand from there. “You always had fire in you. Don’t let this family snuff it out again.”

Her words earned her a sharp glance from Leonard, but she ignored him, sipping her wine calmly.

Dinner was served then—plates of roasted lamb, buttered potatoes, vegetables seasoned to perfection. The clinking of cutlery soon filled the air, but beneath it was a current of tension so strong it could choke.

I picked at my food, but I barely tasted it. I was too aware of Everett’s gaze. He ate with his usual grace, knife and fork moving in perfect rhythm, but his eyes kept lifting to me. Watching. Measuring.

Finally, he spoke.

“So,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the table, “what brings you back to New York, Anyta?”

The question was casual enough, but the sharpness underneath it was impossible to miss.

I dabbed my lips with the napkin before answering. “Work. Opportunities. And maybe a little curiosity.”

“Curiosity?” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head.

“Yes.” I met his gaze, unflinching. “To see if the mansion still stood. To see if the ghosts were still here.”

The table fell silent. Siena’s hand trembled as she lifted her glass, spilling a drop of wine on her dress.

Everett’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “And what do you think so far?”

I let my eyes sweep around the table, pausing on Siena, then back to him. “The ghosts are still here. Some louder than others.”

His jaw tightened.

Leonard broke the silence with a harsh laugh. “You’ve grown bold, girl. But boldness without power is just noise.”

“Maybe,” I replied calmly. “But sometimes noise is exactly what a silent room needs.”

The weight of my words hung heavy, and I knew I had pushed far enough for one night. So I leaned back, lifting my glass, and forced a lighter smile. “Besides, isn’t tonight supposed to be about celebration? Not arguments.”

That seemed to ease some of the tension. Conversations picked up again, though quieter, and people began to turn back to their meals.

But Everett didn’t let me go so easily. His voice slid across the table once more, low and deliberate.

“You’ve changed,” he said.

I tilted my head. “So have you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not enough, apparently.”

I smirked, swirling the wine in my glass. “Oh, I don’t know. I think the cracks are starting to show.”

His gaze burned into me, but before he could reply, Leonard stood abruptly, raising his glass.

“To family,” he declared. “May we endure, no matter who returns from the past.”

The toast rang cold, but everyone lifted their glasses anyway. I did too, but as the wine touched my lips, I locked eyes with Everett.