Chapter 3 - The Desperate Entreaties
By the next morning, the news of the Vance wedding disaster had dominated the front pages of Miami’s business and social press. The arrogant image Richard Vance had cultivated for decades crumbled overnight.
Inside Blake’s penthouse overlooking Biscayne Bay, I sat wrapped in a silk robe, sipping hot tea. For the first time in years, I felt safe. Blake sat across from me, reviewing a thick stack of financial dossiers.
"Your father has called my office forty-seven times since dawn," Blake said, setting his coffee down. "Your sister has attempted to contact your personal line sixty times."
My phone buzzed on the glass table. It was a message from my mother, begging for an audience, claiming she had always loved me and had only stayed silent at the wedding out of fear of Richard.
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"They don't regret hurting you," Blake remarked softly, walking over to wrap his arms around my shoulders. "They only regret that the person they hurt had the power to destroy them."
"Let them sweat a little longer," I said quietly, looking out at the ocean. "They haven't even begun to pay for what they stole from me."
