Chapter 2 - The Fall of the House of Vance
Adrian Vale didn't even blink.
Before Derek's fingers could graze the collar of my dress, Adrian's bodyguard—a mountain of a man named Marcus who moved with the terrifying speed of a striking cobra—had Derek’s arm twisted behind his back in a brutal, bone-crunching lock.
Derek shrieked, a high-pitched, undignified sound that bounced off the crystal chandeliers and echoed against the mahogany walls.
"Get your hands off me!" Derek screamed, his knees buckling as Marcus applied an extra millimeter of pressure to his shoulder joint. "Do you know who I am? I sit on the city zoning board! I finance half the downtown redevelopment projects! I will have you all arrested, I swear to God—"
"You won't have anyone arrested, Mr. Vance," Adrian said calmly, stepping forward to brush an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. "Because by sunrise, you won't exist on paper, in public, or in any bank in the state of Delaware."
The threat hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
I stood there, my right hand throbbing with a white-hot rhythm, watching the man I had loved—or thought I loved—squirm in the dirt like an earthworm on hot asphalt. For nine years, I had shrunk myself to fit inside the narrow boundaries of Derek’s ego. I had swallowed my ambitions, ignored my own instincts, and pretended that his casual cruelty was just the byproduct of a stressful career.
And now, here he was, reduced to a weeping, pathetic mess because he had finally run into someone who didn't care about his country club membership or his golf handicap.
"Emily," Derek choked out, tears of genuine terror streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the expensive pomade in his hair. "Emily, please. Tell them to let me go. We can talk about this. We can go home. We can fix our marriage. Think about the years we've spent together!"
"I am thinking about them, Derek," I said, my voice steady and cold. "I’m thinking about every single birthday where you made me feel like an inconvenience. I’m thinking about the time you threw my mother's antique tea set against the wall because dinner was ten minutes late. And I’m thinking about ten minutes ago, when you broke my hand because I caught you cheating."
I turned my gaze to Chloe, who was backing away slowly toward the terrace doors, her eyes wide with mounting panic.
"And as for you, Chloe," I said, taking a step toward her. She flinched, pressing her back against the glass doors like a trapped animal. "You wanted my life so badly. You wanted my husband, my house, my clothes, and my inheritance. Well, you can have him. Every single miserable, debt-ridden, lying inch of him."
"Wait," Chloe stammered, her voice cracking. "Emily, I didn't know—he told me you were already separated—he said you were crazy—"
"Lies look ugly on you, Ms. Bennett," Adrian remarked quietly, signaling to another one of his men near the entrance. Two large men in identical charcoal suits immediately blocked the terrace doors, cutting off her only escape. "And theft looks even worse."
Derek let out a muffled sob as Marcus shoved him harder into the floor, forcing him onto his hands and knees right at my feet.
"Beg her," Adrian said.
The command was so quiet, so devoid of emotion, that for a second nobody moved.
"What?" Derek whispered, his face pressed against the imported Italian marble, his pristine tuxedo jacket stained with spilled champagne and dirt.
"You heard me," Adrian said, looking down at my husband with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a particularly disgusting specimen under a microscope. "You broke her hand. You stole from her. You humiliated her in front of her peers. Now, you are going to get down on your knees—well, you are already there—and you are going to beg her for mercy."
"I... I can't," Derek muttered, his pride flaring up one last desperate time despite the agony in his shoulder. "I'm a respected businessman—"
Marcus applied another fraction of pressure, and a sharp pop echoed from Derek’s collarbone. Derek shrieked, his forehead slamming against the floor.
"Please," Derek sobbed, the words tumbling out in a broken, frantic rush. "Emily, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Please don't let them do this to me. I'll give you everything—the house, the cars, the accounts—just please, make them stop!"
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I looked down at the man who had ruled my world for nearly a decade. There was no triumph in my heart, only a profound, liberating emptiness. The ghost was finally laid to rest.
"No, Derek," I said softly. "You don't get my forgiveness. You get justice."
