Chapter 3 - The Red Carpet of Arrogance
Flashbulbs exploded in blinding waves outside the St. Regis hotel.
Dozens of paparazzi and high-society journalists crushed against the velvet ropes, screaming Dominic Thorne’s name.
Dominic stepped out of his custom Maybach, radiant with unearned arrogance.
He wore an eight-thousand-dollar tuxedo, his posture radiating the smug triumph of a man who believed he owned the world.
Beside him, Vivienne emerged in a glittering champagne-gold gown, dripping in emeralds that Dominic had purchased with my secret trust dividends.
Her smile was painted on, radiant and toxic.
Behind them, dragged by a private security guard, was my little Chloe.
Her tiny body was stuffed into an ill-fitting designer dress meant to show off her supposed ‘royal upbringing.’
Her swollen cheek was hastily covered with heavy theatrical makeup, but her red, tear-streaked eyes could not be masked.
She kept her head down, clutching the fabric of her skirt, trembling at the aggressive flashes of the cameras.
“Smile, you little brat,” Vivienne hissed under her breath, digging her manicured acrylic nails into Chloe’s delicate shoulder.
“If you ruin my debut as the future Mrs. Thorne, I will make sure your other teeth come out tonight.”
Chloe let out a muffled whimper, fresh tears cutting clean lines through the heavy foundation on her face.
Dominic turned to the wall of reporters, raising his hands in benevolent triumph.
“Tonight is a historic evening for Thorne Global,” Dominic announced smoothly into the cluster of microphones.
“We are finalizing our partnership with the Department of Defense and celebrating a new chapter in my personal life.”
A prominent society reporter shouted from the front row.
“Mr. Thorne, what about your wife, Cynthia?”
“We hear rumors she was barred from attending tonight!”
Dominic scoffed, letting out a patronizing chuckle that was broadcast across several live business networks.
“Cynthia was a charity case I took in out of pity years ago.”
“Her lack of education and low-class background made her unfit to represent a global empire.”
“We have amicably separated, and she has agreed to leave with nothing.”
“Tonight, my beloved Vivienne will assume the role of mother to my daughter and queen of Thorne Global.”
Vivienne beamed, leaning into Dominic’s arm to kiss his cheek in front of a hundred flashing cameras.
She felt untouchable.
She believed she had stepped over the corpse of a weak housewife to take her place among the gods of Manhattan.
Inside the grand ballroom, Beatrice Thorne was already holding court among the elite matriarchs of Wall Street.
“My son finally got rid of that leech,” Beatrice boasted, sipping vintage Dom Pérignon.
“A girl from nowhere trying to climb our golden ladder.”
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“Tonight, we welcome real nobility into our bloodline.”
None of them noticed the convoy of black armored SUVs pulling silently into the hotel’s VIP perimeter.
