Chapter 3 - The Guest Suite Above the Restaurant
The third floor of Zorenko’s House was a world entirely detached from the frantic, clattering energy of a high-end restaurant. While the ground floor buzzed with the clinking of crystal glasses, the murmurs of wealthy patrons, and the sharp barks of sous-chefs calling out orders, the top floor was an oasis of silent luxury.
I climbed the carpeted stairs slowly, holding Milana in my arms. She was fast asleep, her small chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, comforting cadence. The brass key felt cool and heavy in my apron pocket—a tiny piece of metal that had somehow unlocked a prison cell and let fresh air in.
When I inserted the key into the heavy oak door of the vacant guest suite and turned it, the lock clicked with a satisfying, expensive sound.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
My breath caught in my throat. The suite was breathtaking. It wasn't just a room; it was a small, beautifully decorated apartment furnished with vintage European pieces, warm oak flooring, and walls painted in soft, calming shades of cream and sage green. A large bay window overlooked the glittering evening lights of central Kyiv, the golden domes of ancient churches catching the fading twilight.
And there, in the corner near the window, stood something that made my knees weak: a brand-new white wooden crib, complete with a firm orthopedic mattress, a soft knitted blanket, and a musical mobile dangling overhead.
— How... how did he know? I whispered to myself, setting my backpack down on the plush sofa.
Sebastian must have ordered one of the staff members to prepare the room the moment he saw Milana, or perhaps the suite was always kept ready for VIP guests, though the baby items were undeniably new. I walked over to the crib and gently laid my daughter down. She stirred for a second, nuzzling into the soft pillow, then settled back into her deep, peaceful sleep.
I sank into the armchair beside the crib, burying my face in my hands. The adrenaline that had kept me upright through the terror in the basement was finally wearing off, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. I trembled as the reality of what had just happened washed over me.
Veronika was gone. Fired. Stripped of her power.
For months, that woman had made my life a living nightmare. When Artem and I were still married, Veronika treated me like an intruder who had tricked her precious son. She criticized everything from how I cooked borscht to how I folded laundry. When I became pregnant, she suggested—with a chilling, polite smile—that a baby would only ruin Artem’s career prospects and that I should consider "other options." When I refused and Artem walked out anyway, Veronika made sure I was blacklisted from two local cafes where I applied for part-time work, ensuring I had no choice but to take the demanding waitress job at Zorenko’s House, where she conveniently worked as the floor manager.
She had planned this entire trap. She had watched me struggle, watched me bring my baby in out of pure desperation, and then deliberately orchestrated Milana’s disappearance to humiliate me, get me fired, and hand my child over to Artem.
If Sebastian Zorenko hadn't been in his office... if he hadn't checked the security cameras... I shuddered, wrapping my arms around myself. I didn't want to think about where Milana might be right now.
A soft knock at the door broke my thoughts.
I jumped, wiping away the stray tears on my cheeks, and hurried to open it.
Standing in the doorway was Cook Nazar, holding a heavy wooden tray covered with a pristine white linen cloth. His round, friendly face was split into a wide, relieved grin.
— Marina! Praise God you’re both okay, — Nazar said in a stage whisper, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. — The whole kitchen is buzzing like a beehive. Veronika was escorted out by security five minutes ago. She was screaming so loud she broke a potted ficus by the entrance!
I let out a shaky breath, a nervous laugh escaping my lips. — Is she really gone, Nazar?
— Gone and locked out of the system, — Nazar declared, setting the tray down on the coffee table. He lifted the cloth, revealing a bowl of steaming chicken broth, fresh-baked bread, a plate of baked salmon with herbs, and a tall glass of warm compote. — Mr. Zorenko himself ordered this from the chef's private stock. He said you needed to eat before your shift resumes at seven.
I looked at the food, my stomach giving a soft rumble. I hadn't eaten anything since morning except for a stale biscuit snatched in the supply closet.
— I can't believe all of this, Nazar, — I said softly, looking around the luxurious suite. — Sebastian Zorenko... everyone downstairs talks about him like he’s made of ice. They say he’s ruthless.
Nazar pulled out a chair for me and sat down on the edge of the sofa, shaking his head. — He’s strict, yes. If a cook ruins a sauce or a waiter drops an expensive bottle of wine twice, they’re out. He demands perfection because his name is on the door. But cruel? No. Not Sebastian. People who call him cruel are usually the ones like Veronika—people who abuse their power when they think no one is watching.
Nazar leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. — Do you know why he keeps to himself down in that basement office most of the time?
— No, — I admitted, taking a sip of the warm compote. — Nobody knows anything about his personal life.
— It’s an old story, — Nazar murmured. — Years ago, before he built this restaurant empire, he lost everything in a terrible fire in Lviv—his family, his workshop. He clawed his way up from the absolute bottom, building this place brick by brick. He hates injustice more than anything in this world. When he saw that woman try to steal a mother’s child just to settle a petty grudge... well, Veronika dug her own grave the moment she touched your baby.
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I looked over at the crib where Milana was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the political storm she had accidentally triggered downstairs.
— I need to get back down for the dinner shift, — I said, standing up. — I can't take advantage of Mr. Zorenko's kindness.
— Relax, Marina, — Nazar smiled, patting my shoulder. — For tonight, your only job is to feed that little angel and get your strength back. Sebastian told the floor supervisor that you’re off duty for the rest of the evening. He’s taking over the floor coordination himself tonight.
My eyes widened. — The owner of Zorenko’s House is working the floor service?
— Oh, you don't know Sebastian, — Nazar chuckled, heading toward the door. — When he wants to see how a machine runs after removing a broken gear, he gets his hands dirty. Rest up, Marina. Tomorrow is a brand-new day.
With a cheerful wave, Nazar slipped out of the suite, locking the door behind him.
May you like
I stood in the center of the quiet, beautiful room, the sounds of Kyiv outside humming like a gentle lullaby. For the first time in months, the crushing weight on my chest felt a little lighter. But deep down, I knew something else with absolute certainty:
Artem and Veronika were not going to let this go. They had been humiliated, and people like them always struck back twice as hard.
