Chapter 3 THE WOLVES AT THE TABLE

The glass doors of the Imperial Pavilion restaurant slid open with a soft, expensive hiss, releasing a gust of air-conditioned air scented with jasmine and roasted duck. Located on the top floor of a luxury hotel overlooking the Chao Phraya River, the private dining room was reserved for men who carved up Bangkok’s real estate over porcelain teacups.

Babe walked half a step behind Queen, her heels clicking uncomfortably against the plush Persian rug. She felt entirely confined. The garment bag had contained a tailored, charcoal-grey blazer and a matching pencil skirt that hugged her waist tightly. Her dark hair had been gathered into a neat, professional low ponytail. She looked innocent, almost fragile, but her eyes scanned the room with the alert tension of a street cat dropped into a kennel of purebred hounds.

Queen, by contrast, moved through the space like she owned the air currents. Her cream silk blouse was buttoned to the throat, a heavy gold watch glinting on her wrist. Her face remained a perfect, unreadable mask of serious indifference.

At the center of the room sat Senator Pongsak. He was already deep into a bottle of vintage wine, surrounded by three municipal zoning directors whose bloated faces flushed red with alcohol. Beside him sat Lady Nalin, Queen’s mother, adjusting her diamond earrings in the reflection of a silver soup spoon.

"Ah, the CEO arrives!" Pongsak boomed, spreading his arms wide as if welcoming a long-lost friend rather than his stepdaughter. "We were just discussing the riverfront permits. Sit, sit."

Queen took her seat at the foot of the table, her movements fluid and precise. Babe immediately moved to stand a step behind Queen’s right shoulder, her hands clasped in front of her. She caught Pongsak’s eyes tracking her, his gaze dropping to her uniform-free appearance, a small, dismissive sneer touching his lips.

"Who is the new face, Queen?" Pongsak asked, swirling his wine. "I thought your assistant was that capable young man, what was his name—"

"This is Bonita," Queen interrupted smoothly, her voice cool enough to drop the temperature in the room. "My new executive aide. She handles my private scheduling. Let's discuss the Tuesday permits, Senator. My surveyors are already on site."

"Always down to business," Lady Nalin sighed, tapping Queen’s wrist with a manicured finger. "Can you not even ask your stepfather how his charity gala planning is going? You are so dry, darling. It’s unappealing."

Queen didn't flinch. She kept her eyes locked on Pongsak. "The charity gala is funded entirely by my firm’s quarterly corporate social responsibility budget, Mother. The paperwork is finalized. The permits, however, are not."

One of the zoning directors, a thick-necked man named Suchart, leaned forward, his eyes glassy as he looked at Queen, then drifted over to Babe. "The riverfront permits are... complicated, Khun Queen. Environmental regulations, historical preservation groups. It takes a lot of administrative effort to look the other way." He smiled, revealing a row of capped teeth. "Perhaps your new aide can bring the revised blueprints to my private office tomorrow evening? We can discuss the environmental clearances over a quiet dinner."

Babe felt a sudden, violent surge of heat rush to her face. The implication was loud, clear, and disgusting. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fists behind her back, her jaw tightening. She looked down at the back of Queen’s head, waiting for the cold CEO to sacrifice her as a transactional chip to secure the multi-billion-baht project.

Queen didn't move. She slowly picked up her porcelain teacup, took a measured sip, and set it back down on the saucer with a sharp, echoing clink.

"Director Suchart," Queen said, her voice dropping into a flat, terrifying quietness. "My aide’s salary is handled by my executive office. Her duties do not include correcting your lack of regulatory oversight over dinner. If the Siri-Wattana blueprints require a second review, my entire legal department will deliver them to your public tribunal on Monday morning. I am sure the anti-corruption committee would love to review the environmental clearances along with them."

The table went entirely dead silent. The low murmur of the restaurant outside seemed to vanish. Suchart’s smile froze, his face shifting from flushed red to a pale, mottled grey.

"Now, Queen, let’s not threaten our guests," Pongsak muttered, his tone sharpening as he glared at her. "Suchart was only making a joke."

"My father did not build this empire on jokes, Senator," Queen replied, her expression completely blank, devoid of any anger, yet radiating an absolute, dangerous authority. "He built it on structural integrity. If this committee cannot guarantee the same, I will withdraw the funding for your trade district project by five o'clock today. The political fallout, I imagine, will be yours to handle."

Lady Nalin gasped, clutching her pearls. "Keeraphat! How dare you speak to your father like that in front of—"

"He is not my father," Queen said simply.

She stood up, her chair scraping back against the rug with a dull thud. She didn't look at her mother, nor did she wait for Pongsak’s roar of outrage. She simply adjusted her blazer.

"The luncheon is concluded. Bonita, get the car," Queen commanded.

Babe blinked, her heart hammering against her ribs. A strange, breathless sensation bloomed in her chest. She had spent her entire life fighting off predators alone, expecting the rich and powerful to always side with the wolves. But Queen had just thrown herself in front of a pack of politicians to shield her—and she hadn't even blinked.

"Yes, Boss," Babe murmured, her voice steadier now.

She turned and marched out ahead of Queen, her posture straighter, her defensive armor suddenly feeling a little lighter. As they entered the private elevator, the doors closing out the sounds of the chaotic dining room, Babe looked at the profile of the woman beside her. Queen was staring straight ahead at the metal doors, her face still an unreadable, frozen sheet of glass.

"You didn't have to do that," Babe said softly into the silence of the descending elevator. "I could have handled him. I've dealt with worse than that fat director."

Queen didn't look at her. But as the elevator reached the parking garage, she spoke, her voice carrying a faint, almost undetectable tremor of exhaustion.

"I told you before, Babe," Queen whispered, stepping out into the shadows of the concrete garage where the black limousine waited. "In that world, they look for any blood to tear me apart. If they touch you, they touch my choice. And I do not let anyone break what belongs to me."

Babe stood frozen for a second, watching the untouchable Ice Queen walk toward the car. For the first time, Babe didn't see a monster or a cold billionaire. She saw a warrior who wore armor because the entire world was waiting to stab her in the back.