Chapter 6 - The Public Execution
The doors to the private VIP lounge swung open wider, revealing the sprawling, cavernous expanse of the grand ballroom below. Thousands of guests—politicians, billionaires, international media moguls—sat at rows of candlelit tables, their chatter pausing as the massive crystal screens at the front of the hall flickered to life.
My face—sharp, composed, and undeniably powerful—appeared in high-definition across every screen in the building.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the gala host’s voice boomed through the state-of-the-art acoustic system, filled with profound reverence. “Please direct your attention to the top of the grand staircase as we welcome the founder and Managing Chairwoman of Veritas Capital, Her Excellency, Elowen Vance-Prescott.”
The applause that erupted from the ballroom below was deafening—a roaring wave of adulation and corporate reverence that shook the glass windows of the penthouse.
Weston stood paralyzed, trapped in the center of the room while the world he thought he owned crumbled into dust around him. Vanessa Sterling slowly stepped away from his side, her expression hardening from romantic interest to pure, calculated disgust as she realized she had hitched her wagon to a sinking, bankrupt fraud.
“Weston,” I said, turning my back on him as David gestured toward the private staircase leading down to the main stage. “Tonight was supposed to be the biggest night of your career. You were going to secure the Sterling partnership, lock down the municipal contract, and celebrate your ascent to the top of the city’s elite.”
I paused, looking back over my shoulder, the midnight-blue silk of my gown catching the light.
“Instead, let me show you what real power looks like.”
I began to walk down the private staircase, stepping past the stunned faces of the city’s oligarchs, descending toward the blinding lights of the grand ballroom. Behind me, I heard Weston stumble forward, crying out my name in a desperate, broken shriek.
“Elowen! Wait! Please! We can talk about this! We’re married!”
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Two members of my security detail stepped into his path, crossing their arms like impenetrable stone walls. Weston collided against their chests, bouncing off and sprawling inelegantly onto the imported marble floor—the very same floor he had worried about more than my well-being just hours earlier.
“Mr. Prescott,” David said coldly, looking down at my weeping husband. “The Chairwoman is done speaking with domestic staff.”
