Chapter 3 - THE QUEEN RETURNS
Every breath in the room caught simultaneously.
Walking alongside Raymond Harrell was a woman who looked like she had been sculpted from ice and royalty. She wore a custom dark emerald silk gown that flowed like liquid fire around her ankles. Her hair was styled in sleek, timeless waves, and resting against her collarbone was the infamous Star of Azerbaijan—a fifty-carat diamond necklace worth more than Spencer’s entire company.
She carried herself with an absolute authority that demanded obedience without saying a single word.
Spencer blinked. His vision blurred for a moment.
The sharp jawline. The striking hazel eyes. The effortless poise.
His champagne glass slipped from his fingers, crashing onto the marble floor and shattering into a hundred glittering shards. Champagne spilled across his polished shoes, but he didn't even notice.
"Spencer! What is wrong with you?" Paisley hissed, grabbing a napkin to clean his jacket. "You're making a scene!"
Spencer couldn't speak. His throat was completely dry. His brain refused to process the reality standing fifty feet away from him.
"No..." he whispered, his voice trembling violently. "That's... that's impossible."
"What's impossible?" Paisley snapped, looking up toward the entrance.
Her eyes landed on the woman walking beside Raymond Harrell. Paisley’s condescending smile slowly melted into a mask of pure horror.
It was Phoebe.
The quiet, plain, pathetic housewife in the faded navy dress was standing in front of the world’s most powerful billionaires, looking like an empress.
"That... that's your wife?" Paisley gasped, her face draining of all color. "No... no, Spencer, tell me that's a lookalike. That can't be her!"
Raymond Harrell took the microphone from the stage podium. His powerful voice resonated through the high-end speakers, filling every corner of the vast ballroom.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Raymond announced, his eyes sweeping over the crowd with cold arrogance. "Tonight, Harrell International is proud to announce the permanent appointment of our new Chief Executive Officer and sole heir to the Harrell estate."
He turned, placing a proud hand on Phoebe’s shoulder.
"Please welcome my daughter... Phoebe Harrell."
The ballroom erupted into thunderous applause. Senators, titans of finance, and international diplomats clapped enthusiastically, eager to gain the favor of the newly revealed heiress.
Spencer felt as if the ground beneath him had opened up and swallowed him whole.
Phoebe Harrell.
Three years. For three years, he had been married to the daughter of the richest man in the continent. And he had treated her like a servant. He had berated her, ignored her, and tonight... he had left her behind in an old dress so he could parade his mistress around town.
Phoebe took the microphone. Her eyes swept across the sea of faces until they locked directly onto Spencer and Paisley.
A faint, deadly smile touched her lips.
May you like
"Thank you, everyone," Phoebe said, her clear voice ringing out with absolute control. "Tonight marks a new era for Harrell International. And as my first official duty, I will be reviewing all pending contracts... including those submitted by local companies seeking our partnership."
Spencer’s heart stopped.
