Chapter 4 - The Lobby Confrontation
Nathaniel couldn't help himself. His legs moved before his brain could stop them.
"Vivian!" he cried out, stumbling forward past a pair of startled bellhops. "Vivian, wait! What is going on here? What is this sick joke?!"
The two security guards flanking the elevator bank didn't hesitate. They didn't draw weapons, but they moved with terrifying, synchronized speed, intercepting Nathaniel three feet from where Vivian stood. One guard placed a heavy, immovable hand against Nathaniel’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.
"Unhand me! Do you know who I am?!" Nathaniel yelled, thrashing against the guard's grip. "That’s my wife! My pregnant wife!"
Vivian stopped.
Slowly, gracefully, she turned her head. Her dark eyes swept over Nathaniel with an expression so utterly devoid of emotion that it felt worse than hatred. It was as if she were looking at a piece of litter stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
"Mr. Brooks," Vivian said. Her voice was calm, melodic, and carried effortlessly across the silent lobby. "You are trespassing in a private sovereign zone."
"Sovereign zone? Are you out of your mind?!" Nathaniel shouted, spittle flying from his lips. "What is this game?! Did you steal a private jet? Did you get mixed up with some cartel or something? Where did you get this money, Vivian?! You were living in my house! I paid the mortgage!"
Harper pushed her way through the lobby crowd, her face twisted in rage as she pointed a manicured finger at Vivian.
"Hey! You! Trashy little scam artist!" Harper screamed, completely losing her composure. "Whatever con you're pulling, it’s over! He’s divorcing you! He’s with me! You can't just rent a fancy coat and pretend you're royalty—"
Slap.
The sound echoed off the crystal chandeliers like a pistol shot.
It wasn't Vivian who struck Harper. It was Arthur Pendelton—the elderly, impeccably dressed estate manager who had stepped out of the elevator behind Vivian. Arthur’s face was carved from granite, his white-gloved hand still hovering slightly in the air after the backhand blow that sent Harper stumbling backward against a marble pillar.
"Insolent little creature," Arthur said coldly, his voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "You are addressing Her Serene Highness, Princess Vivian of Valois-Orléans, Duchess of Provins and primary heir to the sovereign crown."
Harper clutched her stinging cheek, gasping for air. "You... you hit me! I’m calling the police!"
"Call them," Vivian said softly. She took two slow steps toward Nathaniel, looking down at his pathetic, disheveled form. "They are outside, Mr. Brooks. Or did you not realize that your corporate accounts at Apex Logistics were frozen forty minutes ago?"
Nathaniel froze. "How... how do you know about Apex?"
Vivian gave a small, chilling smile.
"Apex Logistics was a subsidiary of Sinclair-Orléans Holdings," Vivian said quietly. "A modest shipping firm my grandfather purchased in the nineties as a tax shelter. When you applied for the vice presidency three years ago, I asked our regional HR director to let you pass. I wanted to see if ambition without character could build something of its own."
She looked down at Nathaniel’s cheap suit, then up at his terrified face.
"It seems," she continued, "you couldn't even manage a mid-tier freight company without my family’s unseen hand propping up your balance sheets. The moment our auditors pulled our capital guarantees today, your company went bankrupt."
Nathaniel’s knees buckled.
Bankruptcy.
The job he had bragged about. The title he had used to belittle her. The salary he had lorded over her head every time she asked for grocery money.
It was all a gift. A sandbox built by her family, which he had mistaken for his own kingdom.
"Vivian... please," Nathaniel stammered, dropping his voice to a pathetic whimper as he tried to reach for her hand. "I was stressed... the pressure of the baby... I made a mistake with Harper, I swear to God it meant nothing! We’re a family, Viv! We have a child coming!"
Vivian stepped back, avoiding his touch as if he carried a plague.
She placed one hand protectively over her swollen belly.
"You had a wife who loved you even when you had nothing, Nathaniel," Vivian said, her eyes flashing with a cold, terrifying fire. "You threw her out into the snow on Christmas Eve because you thought she was an anchor dragging you down."
She turned toward the private elevator.
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"Enjoy Paris, Mr. Brooks. Your hotel room is not paid for, your credit cards are canceled, and your company no longer exists. Let us see how far your ambition takes you when you have to pay your own way."
The elevator doors closed, sealing her away behind polished brass and silence.
