Chapter 3 - THE PUBLIC EXECUTION
Two days later, the annual Global Economic Summit was held at the Grand Plaza Hotel. It was the premier event for the international elite—a place where fortunes were made, empires were forged, and reputation was everything.
Julian and Victoria Vance managed to sneak into the hotel lobby using old security passes they hadn't yet surrendered. They were desperate. They knew Elena would be attending as the keynote speaker, and Julian believed—in his immense, narcissistic delusion—that if he could just get on his knees in front of her, pull at her heartstrings, and remind her of their wedding vows, she would soften.
"Just look pathetic, Mother," Julian whispered frantically as they hid near the VIP velvet ropes. "Let her see how much we're suffering. Women like her have a savior complex. She loved me once, she'll forgive me."
"I am NOT kneeling to that girl," Victoria hissed, though her arrogance was visibly trembling under the weight of her impending homeless reality.
Suddenly, the grand doors opened, and a barrage of camera flashes lit up the lobby like lightning.
A fleet of armored Maybachs pulled up to the red carpet. Bodyguards in crisp black suits formed a impenetrable wall as the rear door opened.
Elena stepped out.
The room gasped. She was breathtaking. Dressed in a floor-length dark emerald gown adorned with understated black diamonds, she exuded an aura of untouchable royalty. Alongside her walked Arthur Sterling and several of the world’s most powerful central bankers, hanging onto her every word.
"Elena!" Julian screamed, breaking through the perimeter of journalists. "Elena, please!"
Security guards instantly tackled Julian to the polished marble floor, pinning his arms behind his back. Victoria shrieked in horror as she was roughly shoved back by the crowd control team.
Elena paused. She didn't look startled. She slowly turned her head, looking down at Julian squirming on the floor like an insect beneath her designer heels.
"Let him speak," Elena said calmly, waving her hand.
The guards lifted Julian to his feet, holding his arms tightly. His suit was wrinkled, his hair was a messy disaster, and his face was pale with desperation.
"Elena... baby, please," Julian sobbed, his voice echoing across the media-packed lobby. Cameras were clicking furiously, recording every second of his humiliation. "I made a mistake! My mother pushed me into treating you that way! She forced me to act cold to you! I was confused, I was under pressure! I love you, Elena! We can start over! Tear up the foreclosure papers, please... I’m your husband!"
Elena walked closer to him, stopping just inches away. The intense scent of her high-end perfume washed over him, reminding him of what he had thrown away.
She raised her hand and gently touched his jaw—the exact spot where she had slapped him two nights ago. Julian closed his eyes, thinking he had won, thinking her affection was returning.
Then she leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "You watched your mother shove my face into trash, Julian. You laughed. You called me low-class to impress a man whose salary I pay."
She stepped back, her face instantly turning back into a mask of pure ice.
"You aren't my husband," Elena spoke aloud, her voice carrying clearly into every microphone surrounding them. "You're just a leech who forgot who was feeding him."
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She turned to the chief of security. "Have him removed for trespassing. And inform the press that Apex Titan will be hosting a public auction tomorrow to sell off the Vance family's foreclosed personal assets—including his mother’s jewelry collection."
"No! NO! ELENA, PLEASE!" Julian screamed as he was dragged backward out the glass doors, his feet scraping uselessly against the floor while reporters flashed pictures of his total breakdown.
