Chapter 2 - The Queen’s Gambit"You vile, scheming little bitch!" Mavis shrieked, lunging toward me with her fingernails bared like talons.
She never made it within five feet of me.
Two federal agents intercepted her mid-stride, pinning her arms behind her back with mechanical efficiency. Mavis let out an ear-piercing squawk of outrage, her expensive gold-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose.
"Do you know who we are?" Mavis screamed, thrashing against the agents. "We are the Holloways! We built this society! Grant is a visionary! You're nothing without him—you were scrubbing our floors twenty minutes ago!"
I turned my gaze slowly toward her, letting out a soft, pitying sigh.
"Mavis," I said, my voice ringing clear across the ballroom. "For seven years, I let you treat me like a domestic servant in my own home because I wanted to see if your son loved me for who I was. Do you know what I learned?"
I paused, letting the heavy silence build.
"He doesn't love anyone. He loves a mirror. And you love a bank account that never existed in your name."
My father stepped up beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch grounded me, washing away seven years of stifled grief and hidden identities.
"As for the house," my father added, looking down at Grant, who was now clutching his head in his hands as he knelt on the shattered glass. "The deed was never in Holloway Meridian's name, nor was it in yours, Grant. It was purchased through a family trust under Seraphina’s maiden name on the day you married her. A wedding gift, if you will—though I suppose you forgot to read the fine print in the prenuptial agreement you signed without a lawyer."
Grant’s head snapped up, his eyes bloodshot and wide. "The prenup... I signed a standard asset-separation agreement..."
"You signed whatever our legal team slid across the table while you were too busy bragging about your stock options," my attorney corrected smoothly. "Section 9, Paragraph 4: Any property improved or maintained using Bellamy capital defaults immediately to the primary investor in the event of financial malfeasance or corporate fraud."
The master of ceremonies cleared his throat nervously into the microphone, trying to salvage some shred of decorum. "Ladies and gentlemen... it appears our evening's program has concluded. Thank you for attending the Atlantic Legacy Gala."
Instantly, the ballroom erupted into chaotic chatter. Flashing lights blinded the Holloway family from every angle. Security guards formed a human wall, escorting Delaney, Mavis, and Grant toward a side exit—not as VIP guests, but as detainees being handed over to local and federal authorities for formal processing.
As Grant was being led past me, his eyes locked onto mine one last time. There was no anger left in them—only a hollow, crushing realization of utter devastation.
"Seraphina..." he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please. Think of the time we spent together."
May you like
I didn't blink.
"I spent seven years thinking about it, Grant," I replied quietly. "Now, go enjoy the rest of your evening."
