Chapter 4 - The Fall from Grace
Edward stepped to the very edge of the balcony, looking down at the crowd, then back at the kneeling, weeping girl beside him.
"By royal decree of the Sovereign Realm of Valdemore," Edward declared, his voice broadcasting clearly through the ballroom's sound system, "the betrothal between the Royal House and Serena Ashworth is hereby annulled, effective immediately."
A loud, sharp gasp echoed from Victoria Ashworth down in the crowd, followed by a low, desperate groan from Arthur Ashworth, who looked as though he was having a heart attack.
"Furthermore," Edward continued, his tone cold and unyielding, "all diplomatic ties, financial investments, and banking guarantees extended by the Valdemore Sovereign Fund to Ashworth Capital and its subsidiaries are revoked with immediate effect."
Serena gasped, her head snapping up. "No! Edward, no! My father’s firm... it will crash! We'll be ruined!"
"Your father’s firm was sustained for the past six months solely on the credit of my family's sovereign bank," Edward revealed mercilessly. "A credit line granted because I believed I was joining our families in love. My mother was right. You did not love me, Serena. You loved the shadow of my wealth."
Two heavy tactical guards in midnight-blue uniforms stepped onto the balcony, their white-gloved hands coming down firmly onto Serena's shoulders.
"Get off me!" Serena screamed, thrashing wildly in her heavy silk dress. Her hair, which had taken three hours to style, broke loose from its pins, hanging in disheveled strands around her red, tear-streaked face. "Don't touch me! Edward, tell them to let me go! Mother! Father! Help me!"
Down in the ballroom, Arthur Ashworth tried to push his way through the line of Imperial Guards to reach the stairs, but two broad-shouldered soldiers crossed their silver pikes, blocking his path with effortless, terrifying force.
"Mr. Ashworth," Commander Henrik Vance said, stepping in front of the panicked hedge-fund manager. "If you take another step forward, you will be detained under federal diplomatic obstruction laws. Your family has five minutes to clear your personal belongings from this property."
"Please!" Victoria Ashworth sobbed, dropping her designer handbag and clutching Henrik's arm. "Please, tell Her Majesty we didn't know! We are so sorry! We will make Serena apologize! She will get on her hands and knees and beg!"
"She already tried that," Henrik replied, his face carved from ice. "And Her Majesty found it entirely unconvincing."
Up on the balcony, the two guards pulled Serena to her feet. The breathtaking ivory dress—the dress meant to symbolize her entrance into world royalty—was now torn at the hem, wrinkled, and dragging through the dust of the balcony floor.
She was marched down the rear service staircase—the very same narrow, concrete staircase Margaret had climbed every evening after her long shifts as a maid.
When they broke through the rear security doors into the crisp autumn night air, Serena was shoved gently onto the gravel driveway.
Her parents were already standing there, surrounded by four security officers holding their personal luggage—which had been rudely dumped from the master suites into plain canvas bags.
Outside the main estate gates, parked along the public road in the dark, were three black vans bearing the logos of major television news networks and financial press outlets.
"What... why are there reporters out there?" Serena asked, shivering uncontrollably in the cold wind, her bare shoulders goosebumping as the autumn air sliced through her silk gown.
Arthur Ashworth dropped his head into his hands, his voice broken and hollow. "The Valdemore Imperial Secretariat just issued a international press release... They’ve announced the immediate cancellation of the engagement due to severe ethical breaches... Ashworth Capital’s shares are already tumbling in the Tokyo morning market... We're bankrupt, Serena. By tomorrow morning, we'll have nothing."
Serena turned back toward the grand estate.
The massive stone mansion was ablaze with warm light. Inside, the string quartet had begun playing again—a grand, majestic waltz that echoed across the manicured lawns. Through the towering floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the grand ballroom, she could see the glittering crowd raising their crystal champagne glasses in a toast.
Standing at the center of the room, under the radiant glow of the central chandelier, was Her Majesty Dowager Empress Margaret, holding the hand of Mrs. Farrow—the head housekeeper.
Serena watched in stunned, agonizing disbelief as the Empress placed a glittering diamond brooch onto Mrs. Farrow's lapel, publicly honoring the domestic worker before the entire European aristocracy.
"Move along, Miss Ashworth," a cold voice commanded from behind her.
Serena turned to see Lord Commander Henrik Vance standing at the perimeter gate, flanked by six armed guards.
"You can't do this to me!" Serena shrieked, her voice cracking with pure, ugly desperation. "I am Serena Ashworth! I belong in that room! I belong up there!"
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Henrik looked at her—at her smudged makeup, her torn silk, her wild, desperate eyes—and offered a small, terrifyingly calm smile.
"No, Miss Ashworth," Henrik said quietly, pressing the button to close the massive iron perimeter gates, shutting her out in the dark. "You belong out here."
