Chapter 3 - Ashes of an Empire
Forty-eight hours after the gala, Adrian Vale threw a crystal tumbler across his office, shattering it against the reinforced glass window overlooking Wall Street. The amber liquid ran down the pane like dirty rain.
“What do you mean she didn’t use her cards?” Adrian roared, rounding on Marcus, his head of private security. “She has three platinum accounts, an unlimited line of credit, and an American Express black card! How did she leave the city without a trace?”
Marcus didn't flinch; he had worked for the Vale family long enough to know when the master was drowning in his own arrogance. “She left them all behind, sir. Every credit card, her bank cards, her passport registered under your name, and every piece of jewelry purchased during the marriage. She took a commercial flight using her maiden passport—Evelyn Brooks—and paid for the ticket with cash she withdrew from an old personal savings account three weeks ago.”
Adrian dropped heavily into his leather executive chair. His head pounded with a vicious migraine. His collar was undone, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the scar Evelyn knew so intimately. For two days, the media had had a feeding frenzy. Billionaire Adrian Vale Publicly Discards Wife For Pregnant Socialite. Vale Shipping Stocks Plunge Amid Board Scandal. The board of directors was in an uproar, demand letters were flooding his legal department, and his phones had not stopped ringing.
Worse, Claire had moved into his penthouse without his explicit permission. She walked around in silk robes, complaining about the morning sickness, complaining about the paparazzi stationed outside the lobby, demanding that he announce their upcoming wedding date.
“Adrian, honey, you need to eat,” Claire said, entering his office unannounced with a polished smile that set his nerves on edge. She placed a manicured hand on his shoulder. “Let Evelyn run away. It makes the divorce easier. In New York, abandonment works in our favor. We can finalize the settlement before the baby comes.”
Adrian turned his head and looked at Claire. Truly looked at her. For months, she had seemed like a breath of fresh air—undemanding, glamorous, flattering his ego when the pressures of the shipping empire suffocated him. But standing here now, with her calculating eyes and perfectly rehearsed pout, the illusion shattered. She didn't care about his family. She didn't care about the legacy. She cared about the surname.
“Get out, Claire,” he said quietly.
Claire’s smile faltered. “What?”
“I said get out of my office. Go back to the apartment, or better yet, stay at a hotel. I have work to do.”
“Adrian! I'm carrying your son!” she cried out, her voice shrill.
“And you will be provided for,” he snapped, his voice turning lethally cold. “Now leave before security removes you.”
When the door clicked shut, Marcus stepped forward hesitantly. “Sir... there is one more thing. When the cleaning staff cleared Mrs. Vale’s dressing room, they found an envelope left behind the bathroom mirror. It was addressed to you, but it appears she forgot to take it or chose not to leave it in plain sight.”
Adrian snatched the envelope from Marcus’s hand. His fingers shook as he tore it open. Inside was a receipt from a private OB-GYN clinic on the Upper East Side dated the morning of the gala. Stapled behind it was a medical summary.
Patient: Evelyn Vale. Status: Confirmed Intrauterine Pregnancy. Gestational Age: 11 Weeks.
May you like
Adrian’s breath hitched in his throat. The room spun wildly. The blood drained from his face until he looked like a ghost. He remembered the small green box on the floor near her side of the bed that the maids had thrown out. He remembered how pale she had been. He remembered her words: You wanted an heir. You just made your choice.
“My God,” Adrian choked out, falling to his knees beside his desk as the paperwork fluttered from his numb fingers. “What did I do? Evelyn... what did I do?”
