Chapter 2 - Shadows of the Past
The tablet screen glowed in the dim light of Sebastian’s office, casting an eerie blue reflection across Veronika Pavlivna’s rigid, powdered face. The digital timestamp ticked silently forward: 17:03:14. On the video, my mother-in-law’s movements were methodical, devoid of any panic or confusion. She had walked directly to the linen storage room, picked up my sleeping daughter as if lifting a sack of flour, and carried her straight down the forbidden corridor.
Sebastian Zorenko did not raise his voice. That was the most terrifying thing about him. When he was angry, the temperature in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees, and the air turned into glass.
— Veronika, — Sebastian said, his voice dangerously low. — Care to explain why my manager is playing nursemaid in the restricted sector with one of my employee’s babies?
Veronika swallowed hard, her manicured fingers digging into the fabric of her tailored blouse. For a woman who usually ruled the restaurant floor with an iron fist, she looked remarkably small under Sebastian’s gaze.
— It was a disciplinary matter, Mr. Zorenko! she stammered, her voice pitching slightly upward. — This girl—Marina—brought an unauthorized civilian into a high-end commercial kitchen and storage facility. It’s a severe health code violation. I merely removed the child to protect the restaurant's reputation and bring the infant to a safer location before the evening rush.
— A safer location? Sebastian stood up slowly. He was taller than I had realized, broad-shouldered and imposing, yet his movements remained measured. — You carried an eight-month-old infant into a private basement office that requires a biometric scan to open from the outside. How did you get the door open, Veronika? My private code has not been changed in three years.
— I… I found it unlocked! she lied desperately, though the lie hung in the air like foul smoke. Everyone in Zorenko’s House knew Sebastian never left his door unlocked, not even when he went to the restroom.
— Unlocked, — Sebastian repeated, tasting the word with quiet disgust. He turned his piercing gray eyes toward me. — Marina. Did you leave your daughter unattended because you wanted to break rules, or because you had no other choice?
— No other choice, Mr. Zorenko, — I whispered, holding Milana tighter against my chest. The baby woke up briefly, whimpered at the tension in the room, and then tucked her small hand under her chin, falling back asleep. — My neighbor fell ill. I couldn't afford a sitter. I knew I was risking my job, but if I missed this shift, I couldn't pay rent. I placed her in the cleanest corner I could find. I didn't know... I didn't know anyone would touch her.
— You didn't know that your former mother-in-law has been waiting for an excuse to destroy you, — Sebastian finished for me. He looked back at Veronika. — You mentioned you already informed the child’s father. Who would that be?
Veronika straightened her posture, regaining a fraction of her arrogant composure. She believed she still held a trump card. — Artem. My son. Marina’s ex-husband. He has every right to know that his child is being neglected and dragged around dirty restaurant basements like a stray puppy. Artem is a respected man now. He won't stand for this unfit mother parading his bloodline through a workplace.
The mention of Artem’s name sent a cold shiver down my spine. Artem Salohub. The man who had walked out on us six months before Milana was born, claiming he wasn't ready to be a father, the man who hadn't sent a single hryvnia for diapers or formula, yet somehow found money for a brand-new foreign car and tailored suits. Veronika had shielded him from every consequence, whispering in his ear that I was holding him back, that I was an anchor dragging him down.
— Respected? Sebastian scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. — Artem Salohub is a junior procurement manager at a second-rate import firm who owes three months of back rent on his apartment downtown. My administrative assistant runs background checks on every key staff member’s immediate family. Don’t speak to me about respectability in my own house, Veronika.
Veronika’s jaw dropped. She had clearly underestimated how much Sebastian knew about the people under his employ.
— Mr. Zorenko, please, — Veronika tried a different tactic, her voice dripping with false maternal concern. — Think of the scandal! If the health inspector or the local press finds out that waitstaff are smuggling infants into the linen closets, the restaurant’s reputation will be ruined. And it’s all because of her! Fire her. Fire her immediately, blacklist her from every catering business in Kyiv, and let Artem take custody of the child. It’s the only civilized solution.
I closed my eyes, tears hot and heavy spilling over my lashes. The thought of losing Milana—of Artem and Veronika taking my sweet girl away just to punish me—felt like a physical wound tearing through my chest. I couldn't fight them. They had connections, they had money for lawyers, and I had 246 hryvnias and a stained apron.
— Marina, — Sebastian’s voice cut through my despair.
I looked up. He was standing right in front of me now. He didn't look at Veronika anymore. His gaze was fixed entirely on me, intense, analytical, but strangely gentle.
— Do you want to lose your job? he asked.
— No, sir, — I choked out. — But I understand if you have to. I broke protocol. I brought my baby here. I take full responsibility for that.
— You broke protocol by bringing her into the storage room, yes, — Sebastian agreed calmly. — But you did so because you were desperate, hardworking, and had no safety net. That is a failure of social support, not a failure of character.
He turned his head toward the two security guards who stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do.
— Escort Veronika Pavlivna to her office upstairs, — Sebastian ordered, his voice ringing with absolute authority. — Have her pack her personal belongings. Her employment with Zorenko’s House is terminated effective immediately. For trespassing in a restricted area, unauthorized access to private digital systems, and malicious harassment of staff.
— You can’t do this! Veronika shrieked, her mask of cool superiority finally shattering completely. — I’ve managed this floor for twelve years! I made this restaurant what it is! You’re firing me for a waitress and a brat? Artem will hear about this! My son will—
— Your son can join you in the unemployment line if he steps foot on my property, — Sebastian interrupted, not even bothering to look at her as she thrashed. — Take her away.
The guards grabbed Veronika by her arms—gently, but firmly—and hauled her out of the office. Her furious protests echoed up the stone staircase until the heavy wooden door slammed shut, cutting off the noise.
The office grew quiet again. Just the hum of the refrigerator, and the soft, steady breathing of my baby.
Sebastian looked down at me. — Can you work your shift tonight, Marina?
I blinked, stunned. — My... my shift? You aren't firing me?
— I don't fire mothers who do everything they can to feed their children, — Sebastian said simply. He walked back to his desk, picked up a small brass key, and handed it to me. — Take the key to the vacant guest suite on the third floor above the restaurant. There is a crib, clean linens, and a private bathroom. Settle the child in properly. You have two hours before the dinner rush begins. Rest.
I stared at the brass key in my palm, my mind refusing to process the sudden shift in reality. — Mr. Zorenko... why are you doing this?
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Sebastian paused, his hand resting on the edge of the Petrykivka ceramic plate. A shadow crossed his eyes—quick, dark, and filled with a pain that belonged to a completely different world.
— Because twenty-seven years ago, someone left me a key when my own mother had nothing left, — he said quietly. — Go, Marina. Don't make me regret it.
