Chapter 6 At The Billionaire's Table

• Élise sat rigidly at Antoine Moreau’s side, every nerve in her body screaming that she didn’t belong there. The laughter of the wealthy guests swirled around her like smoke, perfumed and suffocating. The crystal chandeliers glittered too brightly, the cutlery too heavy, the air too thick with judgment.
• Her dish sat untouched in front of Antoine, but his attention wasn’t on the food anymore—it was on her.
• He hadn’t looked away since he commanded her to sit. And now, under that unyielding gaze, Élise felt stripped of her apron, her shield, her carefully built distance.
• She forced herself to breathe. She wasn’t here to be intimidated. She was a chef. Nothing more. Nothing less.
• But Antoine leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Do you know why I asked you to join us?”
• Her heart skipped. She searched his expression for mockery but found none. Only sharp curiosity, layered with something more dangerous.
• “No, sir,” she whispered, keeping her tone professional.
• “Because you intrigue me,” he said simply, as though it were fact, not a confession.
• The words sent a ripple down her spine. Around them, the guests laughed, gossiped, and toasted, oblivious to the private storm brewing at the head of the table.
• ✨
• A woman across the table, tall and elegant with diamonds glittering on her wrist, leaned forward. “Antoine, you never invite the staff to dine with us. What makes this one so special?”
• Her tone was honeyed but laced with venom. Élise felt her cheeks flush under the intensity.
• Antoine didn’t flinch. “Her cooking speaks of courage. And I value courage.” His gaze flicked back to Élise, pinning her to her chair.
• The woman’s lips curved into a sharp smile, her eyes raking Élise with disdain. “Courage… or recklessness?”
• The table chuckled. Élise swallowed hard, every instinct telling her to stand, to retreat to the safety of the kitchen. But she couldn’t,not with Antoine’s eyes on her, not with her pride burning hotter than her fear.
• “I’d call it honesty,” Élise said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “Food reveals the truth, whether people taste it or not.”
• A stunned silence followed. Then, a few guests chuckled softly, impressed by her daring attitude.
• Antoine’s smile deepened, subtle and dangerous. “Honesty,” he repeated. “Something this table has lacked for years.”
• ✨
• The dinner dragged on, course after course, but Élise barely tasted a thing. She answered polite questions, endured pointed stares, and tried not to betray how much her palms sweated.
• Finally, when the last plates were cleared and the guests began drifting toward the lounge, Antoine rose. His towering presence silenced the room with ease.
• “Thank you all for attending,” he said smoothly. “I trust tonight’s meal met your expectations.”
• The applause that followed was more for him than for her, but Élise caught the subtle nod he gave in her direction.
• As the guests dispersed, Antoine touched her elbow lightly, guiding her away from the crowd. His touch was brief, impersonal to any onlookers—but to Elise, it sent an electric wave to her spine.
• “You handled yourself well,” he murmured once they were alone in the corridor. “Not everyone can stand their ground at this gatherings.”
• Élise lifted her chin, fighting to steady her voice. “I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.”
• His eyes glinted with something unreadable. “That’s exactly what you did.”
• ✨
• They walked together, the silence between them charged. Élise wanted to demand answers—why her?why tonight? what game he was playing—but her tongue betrayed her. She was too aware of the way his presence filled the space, the way her pulse betrayed her composure.
• When they reached the stairwell that would take her back to the staff quarters, Antoine stopped. “Tomorrow,” he said, his tone clipped yet deliberate. “Be in my office at nine.”
• Élise’s brows furrowed. “Your office?”
• “Yes.” His gaze didn’t waver. “There’s more to you than cooking, Chef Dubois. And I intend to learn exactly what that is.”
• Her breath caught. This wasn’t a request. It was a summons.
• “But sir—”
• “Antoine,” he corrected smoothly, his voice lowering like velvet steel. “When it’s just us, call me Antoine.”
• The air between them thickened. Élise’s lips parted, but no sound came. She was caught between the undeniable pull of his presence and fury at his arrogance.
• Finally, she forced the word past her lips. “Antoine.”
• His smile was slow, satisfied. “Good.”
• And then he left her standing there, her thoughts spiraling, the echo of his footsteps fading like a challenge she wasn’t sure she could refuse.
• ✨
• Back in her room that night, Élise tossed restlessly on her narrow bed. Sleep evaded her, her mind replaying every glance, every word, every unspoken thread between them.
• Why was he interested in her? She was just a chef, one among many. And yet, when he looked at her, it felt like he saw something she hadn’t shown anyone in years.
• “Danger”, her instincts whispered. He was danger dressed in a perfect suit.
• And yet… she couldn’t deny the spark that ignited when their eyes met, a spark that thrilled her almost as much as it frightened her.
• ✨
• The next morning came too soon. Elise dressed carefully, her uniform crisp, her hair pulled back in its usual neat bun. But nothing felt usual. Each step toward Antoine’s office felt heavier, like walking into a lion’s den.
• The hallway leading to his office was lined with dark wood paneling and expensive art. Every detail whispered of wealth, control, and power. She paused at the heavy double doors, inhaled, and knocked.
• “Enter.”
• His voice rolled through the wood, deep and commanding.
• She pushed the doors open and stepped in.
• Antoine wasn’t alone.
• A man in a sharp gray suit sat across from him, flipping through a thin file. Élise’s name was printed boldly across the folder.
• Her stomach dropped. She knew trouble was looming.
• Antoine’s gaze lifted to hers, calm, unreadable. “Ah. Élise. Perfect timing.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “We were just discussing about you.”
• Her pulse spiked. The stranger closed the folder slowly, his eyes scanning her like she was the subject of an evaluation.
• Antoine’s smile was faint, deliberate. “Tell me, Élise… how far are you willing to go, to prove yourself?”