Chapter 8 - The Queen Ascends
The woman descending the staircase was a vision of absolute, untouchable power.
She wore a custom, blood-red Tom Ford gown that clung to her curves, radiating authority. Around her neck sat a diamond necklace worth more than the entire Belmont building. Her hair, previously kept in loose, messy buns, was slicked back into a fierce, elegant style. Her makeup was flawless, her gaze sharp as obsidian.
It was Clara.
His Clara. The woman he had discarded for being "too ordinary."
Marcus’s champagne flute slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble floor.
Chloe gasped, staring at the stage. "Is that... is that your ex-wife?"
Marcus couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe. The blood drained from his face as the realization hit him with the force of a freight train. Clara Vanguard. Vanguard. She wasn't just wealthy; she owned the world he had been desperately trying to claw his way into.
May you like
Clara stepped up to the microphone. Her eyes swept the room and locked directly onto Marcus. A slow, chilling smile spread across her lips.
"Good evening, Belmont," Clara said, her voice dripping with silk and steel. "We have a lot of dead weight to cut."
