My husband put his secretary in my seat on my own private jet, then looked me in the eye and told me to remember my place / Chapter 36 / 52

Chapter 36 - The Grand Casino Rendezvous

I walked across the marble terrace of the Casino de Monte-Carlo alone, the heel of my Louboutins clicking with rhythmic authority against the stone. The sun was burning through the fog, illuminating the polished chrome of Eleanor’s escort vehicle waiting at the curb: a midnight-black Maybach with diplomatic plates.

Two men in charcoal suits stepped out, their bulges beneath their jackets leaving no ambiguity about their hardware.

"Mrs. Vance-Sterling?" the taller one asked in accented English.

"It’s Ms. Vance," I corrected sharply, stopping three feet short of them. "And don't reach for the door. I know how to get into a car."

The man blinked, unsettled by my posture, before stepping aside. I slid into the leather interior. Sitting across from me was not an armed guard, but Julian Sterling.

He looked disastrous. His once-immaculate Brioni suit was rumpled, his hair unwashed, and deep purple bags hung under his eyes. His hands were visibly trembling, clutching a manila folder to his chest. When he saw me, his jaw clamped shut with pure, unadulterated venom.

"Claire," he spat, his voice cracking. "You thought you destroyed me, didn't you? You took my penthouses, my cars, my corporate accounts! You left my mother crying in a rented studio in Queens!"

"You put your secretary in my seat on my private jet, Julian," I said, not even blinking as the Maybach pulled away from the curb toward the docks. "I left your mother with exactly what she earned: nothing. And looking at you now, I see you haven't learned a single thing."

"You don't get it, do you, you arrogant bitch?" Julian sneered, leaning forward, spray flying from his lips. "Your mother called me! Eleanor reached out the minute you froze my assets in New York. She told me you were just an emotional, hysterical brat who got lucky. She promised that if I helped verify your father’s biometric signature, she’d restore my five-hundred-million-dollar buyout!"

I looked at him with sheer, unadulterated pity. "Julian... Eleanor doesn't pay buyouts. She liquidates liabilities. You really think she flew you to Monaco to make you rich?"

His sneer wavered, just for a fraction of a second, before he hardened his expression again. "Shut up! We’re at the dock. You’re the one walking to your execution, Claire. Not me."