Chapter 5 - THE PUBLIC EXECUTION OF PRIDE
"Excuse me?" Elliot Ashford materialized out of nowhere, his face flushed a violent shade of magenta, sweat beading on his upper lip. He practically threw himself between Dante and Mara, bowing frantically, his hands trembling. "Mr. Vance! I am Elliot Ashford, Mara’s father, chairman of Ashford Logistics—an absolute honor, sir, a true privilege to have you grace this humble charity event—if my daughter has caused any offense, any disruption whatsoever—"
Dante did not look at Elliot. He didn't even acknowledge that a man was speaking to him.
He raised his left hand—a subtle, two-inch flick of his wrist.
Instantly, one of the massive bodyguards in midnight-blue suits stepped forward, sliding a heavy, gold-embossed leather folder across Elliot’s chest. Elliot caught it instinctively, his eyes bulging as he looked down at the documents inside.
"Your logistics firm filed for Chapter 11 restructuring three hours ago," Dante said coldly, his eyes never leaving Mara’s pale face. "Your primary creditors are liquidating your assets at dawn. By tomorrow afternoon, you, your debts, and your fraudulent ledgers will belong to me."
Elliot’s face drained of all color. The leather folder slipped from his trembling fingers, hitting the marble with a dull thud. "Mr. Vance... please... we can negotiate—my bank loans—"
"You have no leverage," Dante cut him off, his voice like the closing of a vault door. "And your daughter has terrible taste in footwear."
Delia pushed herself away from the melting ice sculpture, her emerald dress stained with water, her face twisted in a mask of hysterical disbelief.
"This is a mistake!" Delia screeched, breaking every rule of high-society etiquette, her voice cracking with fury and humiliation. "She's nobody! She's a charity case! She wears my old clothes! She doesn't even have a bank account! Why are you looking at her? Look at me! Look at me!"
Dante finally turned his head. He looked at Delia with the detached, clinical curiosity of a scientist observing a particularly repulsive insect.
"You are loud," Dante said quietly. "And she is enduring. There is a vast difference between the two."
May you like
He turned back to Mara. Without asking for permission, Dante reached out, his warm, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around her bare wrist. His grip was unbreakable, yet surprisingly gentle—not the grip of a captor, but of an anchor.
"Come," Dante commanded softly, his slate-gray eyes softening by a fraction of a millimeter. "We're leaving."
