Chapter 7 - The Vance Gala
When Ethan arrived at Vance Tower on Fifth Avenue, he was completely out of place among the soaring glass arches, polished obsidian floors, and private security guards in immaculate suits.
Instead of a private office, he was escorted by two guards up a private elevator to the 80th-floor sky lounge. The double doors opened to reveal a private press reception in full swing.
New York’s most powerful tycoons, international ambassadors, and high-fashion elite were sipping vintage champagne against the panoramic backdrop of Central Park.
And in the center of the room, commanding the attention of every dignitary, was Claire.
She was breathtaking. She wore an off-the-shoulder midnight-blue gown adorned with sapphires that caught the morning light like stars. Her hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, exposing the delicate line of her neck and a diamond necklace that carried the Vance family crest. Beside her stood Alexander Thorne, the reclusive billionaire founder of Thorne Global, his hand resting respectfully near Claire’s waist as they laughed with the mayor of New York.
Ethan felt a surge of possessive rage and agonizing humiliation. That was *his* wife. She was supposed to be waiting at home, cooking dinner in an apron, meek and quiet!
“Claire!” Ethan shouted, pushing past a waiter carrying a tray of flutes.
The lounge fell silent. Heads turned in dismay. The guests parted with murmurs of disgust as they recognized the disheveled, ruined ex-mogul.
Julian Vance stepped forward, his eyes narrowing, but Claire held up a slender, diamond-ringed hand.
“It’s alright, Uncle,” Claire said calmly. She took a sip of her champagne and turned toward Ethan, her gaze entirely devoid of warmth. “Let him speak. I invited him here so there would be no misunderstandings.”
Ethan stopped five feet away, breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists. “Claire… why are you doing this? Look at what you’ve reduced me to! I made mistakes, yes—I was foolish with Sabrina, I was under immense pressure from the IPO! But we’re family! You took everything I owned!”
“You owned nothing, Ethan,” Claire replied, her voice ringing clearly across the grand room. “Every pillar of Mercer Capital was built on my sweat, my calculations, and my blood. When you spent your weekends at luxury resorts with other women, I was working seventy-hour weeks refining the structural loads for Hudson Horizon. You put your name on my drawings. You took the credit. You took the glory.”
She set her glass down with a soft, definitive click.
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“And when you thought you had squeezed every drop of talent from me, you threw me twenty-three dollars and told me to disappear like a stray dog.”
***
