fiction

Chapter 5 - The Heir’s Prerogative

The ballroom was suffocatingly quiet. Five hundred of New York’s elite stood frozen, too terrified to move, breathe, or look away from the woman in the sapphire dress and white fur coat.

Marcus looked up from the floor, tears of utter humiliation blurring his vision. He reached out with a trembling, manicured hand, grabbing the hem of Elara’s gown.

"Elara... please," he choked out, his voice cracking into a pathetic whine. "We were married. We shared a life. Have mercy. Please... just leave me enough to start over. I’ll do anything. I’ll crawl."

Elara looked down at his hand gripping her dress. With slow, deliberate grace, she pulled her fabric away, stepping back so she wouldn't be contaminated by his touch.

"Mercy?" Elara asked softly, tilting her head. "You stood on this stage twenty minutes ago and announced to five hundred people that you were discarding me like trash. You sent armed guards to throw me onto the street in the freezing cold. You thought you were executing me socially, financially, and publicly."

She crouched down slightly so her eyes were level with his tear-streaked, panic-stricken face.

"I am simply showing you what a real execution looks like."

Marcus shuddered violently, burying his face in his hands as dry, racking sobs shook his frame. He was completely, utterly broken. He had played with fire, believing he was a dragon, only to discover he was standing in the path of an avalanche.

Elara stood back up and signaled to the lead syndicate operative.

"Clear the room," she ordered.

"At once, Milady," the operative replied, bowing his head respectfully.

May you like

Within moments, the armed operatives moved through the ballroom, ushering the terrified guests toward the exits like cattle. Within five minutes, the grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was entirely empty, save for the fallen king kneeling in the dust and the true sovereign standing above him.

Elara turned on her heel, her white fur coat sweeping behind her, and walked toward the grand exit where a fleet of black Maybachs waited to take her back to her rightful throne.

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