Chapter 11
While the penthouse above buzzed with quiet productivity, Arthur Vance’s world was violently unraveling below. Stripped of his CEO title, locked out of his corporate accounts, and abandoned by Victoria—who had already fled to Miami with what little cash she had managed to stash away independently—Arthur had devolved into a desperate, volatile wreck.
He had spent the last forty-eight hours sleeping in his luxury sedan parked in a public garage two blocks away from the Hotel Astor, his clothes rumpled, his stubble grown into a thick, ragged beard. He watched the grand entrance of the hotel with bloodshot, paranoid eyes, convinced that his entire downfall was a coordinated conspiracy orchestrated by Julian Sterling and Elena.
Late on a Friday evening, driven by a toxic mix of alcohol, humiliation, and unbridled rage, Arthur bypassed the valets by slipping through a service entrance during a shift change. He knew the hotel layout from years of hosting corporate galas. He avoided the main elevators, taking the dark, industrial service stairs that wound upward through the concrete belly of the building.
By the time he reached the private top-floor service landing, his chest heaved with ragged breaths, sweat matting his dark hair to his forehead. He didn't care about the corporate fraud charges anymore. He didn't care about the board of directors or the forensic audits. He only wanted Elena back under his control—or, failing that, to tear down the sanctuary Julian had built for her.
He forced open the heavy service door leading directly into the penthouse’s private kitchen alcove. The alarm chime sounded a soft, warning chime, but it was too late. Arthur stumbled into the softly lit kitchen, his eyes wild and unhinged, clutching a heavy brass candlestick he had snatched from a maintenance cart in the hallway.
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Elena, who had been sitting at the dining table reviewing architectural drafts while Julian was in his study taking an international call, froze. The color drained from her face as Arthur lurched toward the living area, his navy blue suit stained and torn, his face twisted into a grotesque mask of fury.
“Elena!” Arthur screamed, his voice cracking violently in the quiet penthouse. “You think you’ve won? You think some billionaire playboy is going to save you from me? Get your things! We’re going home right now!”
