Chapter 13 - Into the Lion’s DenThe grand ballroom of the Zenith Hotel glittered with crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and the most powerful, ruthless elite in the world. Men in bespoke tuxedos and women draped in millions of dollars of jewels whispered among themselves as the double mahogany doors swung open.
All conversation died instantly.
I stepped into the room, my arm locked securely with Emily’s. She looked breathtaking—radiant, poised, and utterly unflappable in the midnight-blue gown, carrying herself with a grace that completely eclipsed the icy socialites staring her down.
We walked down the grand marble staircase, every eye locked onto us like predators circling prey.
At the center of the room stood Victor Sterling—a towering, silver-haired man in his late fifties with cold, reptilian eyes and a sardonic smile playing on his lips. He raised his crystal champagne flute toward us.
"Marcus Whitaker," Sterling purred smoothly as we reached the floor. "And... the famous housemaid. How touching. I didn't realize charity work extended to the master bedroom."
A ripple of cruel laughter swept through the surrounding crowd.
Emily didn't flinch. Before I could step forward and crush Sterling's windpipe, Emily spoke up, her voice clear, calm, and carrying effortlessly across the silent ballroom.
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"And I didn't realize the great Victor Sterling had to resort to hiring pathetic thugs like Margaret and Victor just to steal files he couldn't win honestly in the market," Emily replied, a brilliant, cutting smile on her lips. "Must be exhausting, running a multi-billion-dollar empire while your own competence is bankrupt."
Sterling’s smile vanished instantly. His face flushed a deep, ugly crimson.
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