Chapter 5: The Ashes of High Society
The ride back to the Vance estate was peaceful. Not the fragile, tense silence that I used to endure in the Prescott mansion, waiting for Vivian to criticize my posture or Julian to make an excuse for his absence. This was a profound, unshakeable peace.
I looked across the spacious leather seats of the Maybach. My five-year-old twin boys, Ethan and Lucas, were fast asleep, their small heads resting comfortably against Gabriel’s broad shoulders. Gabriel had one protective arm wrapped around them, his sharp, intimidating features softening into absolute devotion as he looked down at his sons.
He caught me staring and offered a small, warm smile. "Are you okay, Clara?" he asked, his voice a low, comforting rumble.
"I am," I breathed out, realizing it was the most honest thing I had said in years. "I really am."
By sunset, the local news networks and elite socialite blogs had already exploded. The Fall of the House of Prescott. The headlines were ruthless. The media detailed how Julian’s lavish wedding had been interrupted by absolute financial ruin. Vivian’s luxury cars were towed away on live television. The caterers, realizing they weren't going to be paid, packed up the champagne and caviar before the vows were even spoken.
The Prescotts, who had spent decades destroying people to maintain their flawless image, were now the laughingstock of the entire state.
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Gabriel’s phone buzzed continuously with updates from his legal team, confirming that Vivian and Julian had vacated the premises. They had moved into a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city.
They had nothing left. And for the first time in my life, I felt no pity for them.
