Chapter 1He Chose Steak Over My Life

The day the earth shook, my fiancé’s "charity case," Daisy Miller, insisted on finishing her last bite of Beef Wellington.

Dominic Blackwood’s voice was like ice as he issued the order to our security detail: "No one moves until she’s finished. We leave together."

My hearing has always been unnaturally sharp—a curse of hyper-sensitivity. I heard it before anyone else: the sickening crack of structural stone deep within the foundation. I didn't wait. I signaled the guards to grab Dominic and evacuate the VIP lounge immediately.

When Daisy finally stood up to chase after him, crying out his name, a massive slab of the ceiling mirrored her movement, pinning her to the polished marble floor. She died instantly.

Months later, during what was supposed to be our honeymoon, Dominic dragged me to the edge of a jagged cliff. He didn't use a gun. He used stones. He pelted me, his face twisted in a mask of grief-driven rage, until I broke.

"It’s your fault!" he screamed as I fell. "If you hadn't forced me out, Daisy would still be alive. She was just a girl who liked nice things! What was her crime? Being hungry?"

He knew I was three months pregnant with his child. He didn't care.

I woke up with a gasp, the phantom pain of stones crushing my ribs still echoing in my chest. I was back in that high-end restaurant. The air smelled of expensive wine and buttery pastry.

This time, if he wants to wait for her to finish her steak, he can wait until the world ends.

* * *

"What’s the rush?" Dominic snapped, his eyes scanning the room with arrogant dismissal. "We aren't in a major fault zone. It’s just a tremor. We wait until Daisy finishes her meal."

He leaned back, adjusting his silk tie. "If anyone tries to sneak out before then, consider your career with Blackwood Industries over."

He was used to being a god, a man whose word could stop the rotation of the earth. I sat across from him, my heart hammering against my ribs, the memory of my own death still burning in my veins. I quietly reached into my clutch and hit the record button on my phone.

The sound of fracturing stone was getting louder. I knew the rhythm of this disaster. In exactly two minutes, the ceiling would come down.

At a nearby table, a service dog began to whine and pace, its hackles raised. Its owner looked panicked. "Mr. Blackwood, please. We should get to the street. The steak can wait."

The Beef Wellington was still steaming. Daisy sliced a piece, her eyes wide and innocent, the very picture of a waifish girl who had never known luxury until Dominic plucked her from a community college scholarship pool. "The meat is so tender," she whispered, looking at Dominic with hero-worship. "I’ve never had anything like this in my life."

Dominic’s expression softened into something sickeningly doting. "It’s top-shelf Wagyu, flown in from Japan this morning. It would be a tragedy to let it go to waste."

In my last life, I had obsessively tracked the shipping records of that "imported" beef, wanting to leave some at her grave out of a twisted sense of guilt. I never found a record. It wasn't until much later that I learned Dominic had raised that cow himself on a private estate—a strange, obsessive project. He had slaughtered it specifically for her.

The restaurant manager looked at me, pleading. "Ms. West, please. Talk to him. If this is a real quake, lives are at stake."

I took a slow, deliberate sip of my Cabernet, feeling the cool liquid coat my throat. I wasn't going to save him this time. I wasn't going to save anyone.

Before Daisy entered the picture, Dominic and I were the "it" couple of the city—the power duo. But the moment he started "mentoring" her, the dynamic shifted. I became the cold, demanding corporate shark, and she was the soft, "pure" light he needed to protect.

I looked up at the ornate ceiling, my voice calm. "The CEO said we wait. Everyone stay in your seats. I’m sure everything is under control."

As the guests began to murmur in protest, the first major jolt hit. A massive ornamental medallion tore free from the ceiling, crashing between two tables with a sound like a bomb going off. A shard of flying plaster sliced across Daisy’s calf, leaving a thin red line of blood.

She let out a piercing, theatrical sob. "Dominic! It hurts... I think my leg is broken!"

"Hold on, I’ve got you," Dominic moved faster than I’d ever seen, his movements frantic and tender. He scooped her up like she was made of glass. Then, he turned on me, his face contorted with fury.

"Margot! You’re supposed to have those 'super-ears,' aren't you? You heard the ceiling cracking! Why didn't you tell us to move? You let her get hurt!"

I lowered my gaze, masking the cold smile touching my lips behind my wine glass. "I’m so sorry. I must have misjudged the frequency. I’ll hold myself accountable."

It seems I was the only one who came back. What a wonderful, terrifying gift.

Dominic reached out and slapped the wine glass from my hand. The red liquid sprayed across my white Dior gown like a fresh wound. "Stop acting like a statue and get out! Move! Before something else falls!"

A tremor shook the floor, causing me to lose my balance on the debris. I slipped, my ankle twisting sharply.

Dominic didn't even look back. He carried Daisy toward the emergency exit, casting one final, icy glance over his shoulder. "Stop being dramatic, Margot. It’s just a fall. If you don't want to die, get up."

I sat on the floor, my palms pressed into the grit and dust, watching his back disappear. My fingers curled into fists.

Dominic seemed to have forgotten that we were here for our engagement party. I was supposed to be the lead, but I had been relegated to a background extra in the story of his "pure" obsession.

That was fine. This time, the ending wouldn't be a cliffside in the rain. It would be something much worse.