Chapter 2 - The New Reality
Derek Vale smiled a smug smile as he steered his pristine white Chevy Tahoe into the upscale apartment complex.
Chloe was eagerly waiting for him in the lobby, wearing a tight red dress that left very little to the imagination.
He kissed her deeply, completely forgetting about the bleeding, sick wife he had just dumped on the cold highway.
Chloe giggled softly and told him he smelled like a highly successful, incredibly powerful executive.
Derek proudly bragged that he was finally shedding the pathetic dead weight that was holding his life back.
He confidently poured them both a glass of expensive champagne in her lavish, modern living room.
He checked his phone, fully expecting a pathetic text message from Willow begging for his ultimate forgiveness.
There were absolutely no messages or missed calls from his discarded, desperate wife.
Instead, he had seven frantic missed calls from the regional director of his prestigious investment firm.
Derek frowned and immediately called his boss back, wondering if there was a sudden problem with his promotion.
His boss answered the phone with a completely panicked and utterly terrified voice.
The regional director screamed that a massive corporate conglomerate had just initiated a hostile, overnight takeover of their firm.
Derek scoffed and arrogantly stated that this was actually a great opportunity for their corporate careers.
His boss angrily replied that the new billionaire owners had explicitly frozen Derek's personal and professional accounts.
Meanwhile, the tactical helicopter rushed through the stormy sky toward a private, heavily guarded medical facility.
I lay on a pristine stretcher while a team of elite trauma surgeons worked frantically to stabilize my failing vitals.
They immediately administered powerful, broad-spectrum antibiotics and heavy pain relievers directly into my veins.
The agonizing fire in my abdomen slowly began to fade into a dull, heavily medicated ache.
I opened my tired eyes and observed the incredibly luxurious interior of the customized aircraft.
A stern woman in a perfectly tailored suit handed me a warm, fluffy blanket and a glass of purified water.
She introduced herself as Evelyn, my father's most trusted and ruthless personal assistant.
Evelyn gently informed me that the severe surgical infection would have definitely killed me within another hour.
She firmly promised that I was completely safe now and would never have to hide in the shadows again.
I weakly asked her if my father was still completely furious about my sudden, unexplained disappearance three years ago.
Evelyn offered a sad, knowing smile and said my father had aged a decade from the profound grief of losing me.
The helicopter landed incredibly smoothly on the illuminated helipad of a towering, corporate glass skyscraper.
Highly trained paramedics rushed my stretcher into a private medical elevator that descended deep underground.
We arrived at a state-of-the-art medical wing hidden entirely from the watchful eyes of the public.
The lead surgeon carefully examined my ruined bandages and loudly cursed the sheer incompetence of the hospital that had discharged me.
He solemnly promised to surgically repair the damage and ensure I made a full and rapid recovery.
As the medical team thoroughly prepared me for an emergency revision surgery, the heavy doors of the trauma bay swung open.
A tall, incredibly imposing man with silver hair and a tailored black suit walked slowly into the sterile room.
His cold, calculating eyes softened with absolute, overwhelming relief the very moment he looked at my face.
Marcus Sterling, the absolute most feared billionaire in the country, fell to his knees directly beside my hospital bed.
He gently kissed my forehead and vowed to completely destroy the miserable man who did this to me.
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Then he reached into his jacket and handed me a digital tablet showing a live security feed of Derek's Chevy Tahoe.
My father coldly asked me if I wanted to watch my abusive husband's beloved car explode tonight.
