I hadn't wanted to hire them in the first place.

"They're family," I'd told myself. "Some of them are elders. If they mess up, what am I supposed to do—scold them?"

Howard had talked me into it.

"They've all had it rough. Help them out if you can. We're all family."

So I caved.

Alyssa had just graduated this year. She couldn't even put together a PowerPoint. To train her up, I'd enrolled her in a twenty-thousand-dollar office software course—out of my own pocket.

My second uncle's son worked sales at the company. His numbers were consistently rock bottom. I'd been ready to let him go, and now he wanted a raise?

And then there was Uncle Stewart Lawrence—a retired factory worker I'd brought on for logistics. He couldn't even lift the equipment. Half the time, he had to beg other departments for help.

I wasn't running a company. I was running a charity for people who thought they were doing me a favor.

I'd assumed they'd be grateful.

Instead, they'd banded together to make demands.

I set down my chopsticks. My voice came out cold.

"If you're unhappy with the company's compensation, you're welcome to find better opportunities elsewhere. I run a small business. I can't afford to keep deities on the payroll."

The table went silent. Faces shifted.

Darlene was the first to explode.

"My daughter working at your company is a privilege for you. And you have the nerve to act high and mighty?"

She turned to my mother-in-law.

"Can you believe this, Deidre? Your daughter-in-law's getting bolder by the day. Won't even give family a little face."

My mother-in-law straightened her spine, assuming her matriarch pose.

"Stella. Apologize to everyone. Now."

I let out a cold laugh and met her gaze head-on.

"Apologize for what? I'm the boss. They're employees."

"My company doesn't force anyone to stay. If they're unhappy, they can leave whenever they want."

I turned to face them directly.

"Alyssa—have I ever mistreated you?"

"Ethan Abbott—you know exactly what your sales numbers look like."

"Uncle Stewart—if you'd really rather retire, I won't stop you."

All three of them went pale.

Alyssa spoke up immediately.

"Stella, I'm really grateful. Thank you."

Ethan dropped his head.

"The raise isn't that important, actually..."

Stewart cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Everything's fine. It's all fine..."

The room fell quiet.

But my mother-in-law wasn't satisfied. She planted her hands on her hips and raised her voice.

"What is wrong with all of you?"

"I still have a say in this family."

"Stella, you will give them raises. Because I said so!"

Darlene immediately started clapping.

"Thank you so much, Deidre!"

A smattering of reluctant applause followed.

Most people just watched, waiting to see what would happen.

I stood up. Howard reached for my arm. I shook him off—hard.

"All you ever do is tell me to put up with it. Is that all you're good for?"

"You won't help me? Fine. I'll help myself."

His eyes pleaded with me.

"Stella, please. Don't make a scene..."

My mother-in-law slammed her palm on the table, refusing to back down.

"Howard! Show some spine! This family's name is Fletcher, not Maxwell!"

"She can't even give us a child. The least she can do is work like a dog for the Fletcher family."

"Stella—next year, you're handing over the CEO position to one of our people!"

"And you'd better get pregnant. IVF, herbal medicine, I don't care how. But you will give me a grandchild. Otherwise, you can pack your bags and get out!"

The room went dead silent.

Every eye turned to me.

I smiled.

Absolutely absurd.

I looked at her, my gaze ice-cold.

"No need to wait until next year. I'm leaving right now."

"Manager!"

The restaurant manager, who had been hovering nearby, stepped forward instantly.

"Pack up all the food. Every last bite."

He froze.

Deidre's eyes went wide.

"You... what did you just say?"

I ignored her and turned back to the manager.

"Pack everything in your best insulated containers. I'm settling the bill now."

"Stella, what the hell are you doing!"

Howard finally snapped out of his stupor.

I turned to face him.

"You can come with me, or you can stay. Choose."

His lips trembled. His gaze darted between me and his mother, unable to land on either.

Deidre clutched her chest like she was having a heart attack.

"Howard Fletcher, don't you dare! If you walk out that door with this wasteful woman, you're no longer my son!"

Howard's face twitched. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

I understood. I nodded slowly.

"Very well."

I turned back to the manager.

"Pack it. Now. Have it loaded into my car."

The manager finally unfroze and scrambled to summon the staff.

The private room fell deathly silent. Every single person sat frozen, mouths agape, watching the scene unfold.

Deidre shook with rage, her bony finger jabbing toward me.

"You... what is the meaning of this!"

I met her eyes, enunciating each word with precision.

"It means you and your precious daughter-in-law can go home and enjoy your shredded potatoes."

I picked up my purse and walked out without looking back.

Behind me, Deidre's shrill wailing echoed through the corridor.

"Howard! Look at the wife you married! She's brought nothing but shame to our family!"

Howard remained rooted to the spot—a statue, frozen mid-collapse.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant.

"Hubert, find me the nearest shelter. I have food that needs to be delivered."

While waiting at a red light, I pulled up Howard's family card and canceled it.

If the Fletchers were so confident in their self-sufficiency, they could figure out their own New Year's Eve dinner.

Howard's calls came in—one after another after another.

I didn't answer.

The shelter finally came into view. Hubert James was already waiting outside.

I parked, and a middle-aged woman in a volunteer vest hurried out to greet me.

"Thank you so much, Ms. Maxwell—this is... we can't thank you enough!"

Behind her, several faces peered through the glass door. Elderly. Middle-aged. A couple of teenagers hovering uncertainly.

"Some dishes need to be reheated, but most can be served immediately."

I popped the trunk.

"Have everyone come help carry it in."

Thirty-some people with nowhere else to go gathered in the shelter's main hall.

Folding tables had been pushed together into one long surface, now covered with takeout containers.

Braised shark fin. Buddha Jumps Over the Wall. Blanched cabbage in supreme broth...

The dishes Deidre had dismissed as pretentious excess received an entirely different reception here.

People ate while murmuring their thanks between bites. Some wept openly.

Hubert and I sat among them, sharing the meal.

Marianne Brooks, the volunteer who'd greeted me, settled into the chair beside mine and pressed a cup of hot water into my hands.

"These folks..." She gestured around the room. "Some came to the city for work and got scammed. Some lost everything to circumstances beyond their control. Others got sick and their own children threw them out." She paused, her voice catching. "It's New Year's Eve. Everyone deserves a good meal. But our budget is so tight—we were only planning to boil some dumplings tonight..."

That evening, I heard story after story.

Kevin Whitney, mid-fifties. Construction worker. His boss had skipped town three years ago, and he'd been chasing unpaid wages ever since.

Felicity Glass, twenty-three. Escaped a violent home. Still carried the bruises.

And an elderly couple whose son hadn't come home in three years. They'd sold their house in the countryside to search for him in the city, only to discover he'd moved without leaving a forwarding address. Changed his number, too.

"Ms. Maxwell."

A man in his early thirties approached, his demeanor humble but hopeful.

"My name is Miles Hawthorne. I saw the news coverage about your company. I studied mechanical automation." He hesitated, then pressed forward. "Are you... hiring, by any chance?"

Desperation flickered in his eyes, tempered by a fragile pride he was trying hard to protect.

"Did you bring a resume?"

He blinked, then scrambled through his backpack, pulling out a crumpled document folder.

I took it and flipped through the pages.

Solid work experience. A few technical patents to his name.

"Come to the company for an interview on the eighth day after New Year."

I pulled out a business card and handed it to him.

"Ask for Boris Lambert in HR. Tell him I sent you."

Miles Hawthorne's hand trembled as he took the card.

Then he bowed—deep, formal, the kind that came from somewhere beyond mere gratitude.

"Thank you!"

He held that bow for a long time.

As I was leaving, Marianne caught my arm and pulled me aside for a photo.

"We have to get a picture. Let people see there are still kindhearted souls like you in this world!"

We gathered in the center of the hall—over thirty of us—and posed together.

I didn't think much of that photo.

I had no idea that by nightfall, it would explode.

The Harbor Shelter's social media account posted an update:

"#WarmthOnNewYear'sEve: A heartfelt thank you to philanthropist Ms. Stella Maxwell, who brought her own New Year's Eve feast to share with our residents. 108 dishes. 108 hearts, warmed."

The photo was attached.

The comments section went wild.

"Holy crap! Are those takeout boxes on the tables behind them... a full imperial banquet?!"

"The shelter admin confirmed it—yes, a full imperial banquet. 108 courses!"

"Who IS this businesswoman? Beautiful AND kind!"

"Found her! Stella Maxwell, CEO of Skyward Tech. They make AI-powered medical devices. Won a national innovation award last year!"

"Queen behavior! Gorgeous, successful, AND generous!"

My phone was under siege—notifications flooding in nonstop.

Congratulations from business partners. Curious messages from friends. Interview requests from media outlets.

Then my phone rang. Howard.

"Stella, why did you cancel my supplementary card?"

His voice was tight with irritation.

"After you left, Mom ordered another full imperial banquet. She's waiting for the check right now."