Chapter 4 - The Mother’s WrathIf Julian was panicking, Beatrice Sterling was homicidal.
By 5:30 p.m., my security feed showed a loud, frantic banging on the heavy oak front door of my suburban house—though I wasn't there to answer it. Instead, the footage captured Beatrice standing on the porch, her face twisted in absolute fury, hammering her fists against the wood while a bewildered moving crew stood nearby with empty dollies.
Julian was standing behind her, looking like a ghost who had forgotten how to haunt.
Since they couldn't get into the house—because I had remotely changed the smart lock permissions immediately after leaving—they were effectively locked out of their own temporary headquarters. More importantly, local news outlets were already picking up the story.
My corporate PR team had released a brief, perfectly timed press release to the city's financial journals: “Apex Capital initiates receivership audit on Sterling Enterprises following major financial irregularities.”
By suppertime, Julian’s phone was no longer ringing with pleas from his mistress or his mother; it was blowing up with furious calls from investors, suppliers, and board members demanding to know why Sterling Enterprises was suddenly facing imminent liquidation.
I watched the drama unfold from the comfort of my penthouse living room while a private chef I had hired for the evening plated a pan-seared duck breast.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Julian. It was an unknown number with a local area code.
I swiped to answer.
“Vivian Sterling,” a harsh, screeching voice barked through the speaker before I could even say hello. It was Beatrice. The veneer of aristocratic poise she had worn all morning had completely evaporated, replaced by raw, venomous hatred.
“Beatrice,” I said calmly, cutting a piece of duck with my fork. “How lovely to hear from you. How are the packing boxes working out?”
“You ungrateful, manipulative little leech!” Beatrice shrieked, her voice cracking with fury. “How dare you pull this stunt? Do you have any idea who you’re messing with? The Sterling family has built this city’s corporate landscape for decades! You think a little cheap stunt with some fake lawyers is going to bring us down?”
“First of all, Beatrice, my lawyers are very real, very expensive, and currently reviewing your personal bank statements as well,” I replied, chewing slowly. “Second, your family didn't build this city's corporate landscape; you inherited a failing textile mill in the nineties and spent thirty years borrowing against assets you didn't own.”
“Open this damn door right now!” she screamed. “Julian is your husband! You took vows! You are going to fix this, or I swear to God I will personally see to it that you are dragged through every court in this state until you are penniless and broken!”
“Oh, Beatrice,” I sighed, setting my fork down with a gentle clink against the porcelain plate. “You still don't understand, do you? I’m not the one who’s broken. You are standing outside a house that is registered entirely in my maiden name, funded by my grandfather’s trust, while your son’s company is currently being liquidated to the highest bidder.”
“You—!”
“Goodbye, Beatrice. Tell Elena I hope the silk robe keeps her warm tonight when the electricity gets cut off.”
May you like
I hung up, turned off my phone completely, and let out a long, satisfying breath.
The first day of my new life was drawing to a close, but the real fireworks weren't scheduled until morning.
