Chapter 15 - The Collapse of the Dynasty
Julian lunged forward, his face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, his fingers clawing toward my throat as if he could erase his humiliation by silencing me permanently.
Before my foot could even shift, Marcus was there. With terrifying speed and cold precision, Marcus caught Julian by the wrist, twisting his arm upward with a sharp, controlled torque that forced the grown man to his knees with a sharp cry of pain. The heavy gold signet ring on Julian’s finger clattered against the marble floor, spinning frantically before coming to a stop near my shoe.
The ballroom erupted into sheer pandemonium. Women screamed, men stood up from their tables, and three private security guards rushed the stage, though they froze the moment Marcus raised his free hand, his eyes burning with a cold, lethal warning.
"Touch her again," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling bass that vibrated through the floorboards, "and you won't leave this building upright."
I looked down at Julian, who was kneeling on the floor of his family’s grandest ballroom, gasping for breath, his expensive tuxedo wrinkled and ruined, his dignity shredded into ribbons. The high society that had once bowed at his feet was now pulling out their cell phones, recording every second of his absolute destruction for the world to see.
"Get him out of my sight," I said quietly, turning my back on him as if he were nothing more than an unpleasant smudge of dirt on the floor.
Two security guards grabbed Julian by the shoulders, dragging him away from the stage as he kicked and cursed, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings until the heavy mahogany doors swung shut behind him, cutting him off from the world he had once ruled.
Arthur stepped up beside me, handing me a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray. "Well," the older lawyer murmured, clinking his flute gently against mine. "That should clear the real estate market up quite nicely."
May you like
I took a sip of the crisp, bubbling liquid, looking out over the silent, staring crowd of elites who were now looking at me not with pity or mockery, but with a terrifying, reverent fear.
"We’re not done yet, Arthur," I said, a dangerous, beautiful smile touching my lips. "The art auction hasn't even started."
