Chapter 3 - The Apex Gala
The ballroom of the Grand Hotel was blindingly opulent. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the city's elite.
Spencer stood near the center of the room, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Paisley hung off his arm in her shimmering gold gown, laughing too loudly as Spencer tried to corner Marcus Vance, the CEO of Apex Group.
"As you can see, Marcus," Spencer boasted smoothly, swirling his bourbon, "Reed Enterprises is perfectly positioned to handle the new logistics contract. We just need Apex's signature, and we can revolutionize the sector."
Marcus looked bored, checking his watch. "The decision ultimately rests with the board, Spencer. And our parent company. They are... particular about who we do business with."
"I assure you, I have a flawless reputation," Spencer smiled, completely oblivious.
Suddenly, the string quartet at the front of the ballroom stopped playing.
The heavy, gilded double doors at the top of the grand staircase swung open. The ambient chatter of three hundred wealthy guests died instantly as the maître d' cleared his throat at the microphone.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, announcing Mr. Raymond Harrell... and his daughter, Ms. Phoebe Harrell."
A collective gasp swept through the room.
I stood at the top of the stairs, the crimson silk of my gown cascading down the steps, the massive ruby around my neck catching the light like a drop of blood.
Down in the crowd, Spencer froze. His bourbon glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the polished marble floor. Paisley’s smug grin instantly mutated into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.
They stared at me as if I were a ghost.
I didn't look down. I walked down the staircase with the flawless, terrifying confidence of a woman who owned the ground she walked on. Every CEO, senator, and investor parted like the Red Sea, bowing their heads respectfully to my father as we moved through the crowd.
We stopped directly in front of Spencer.
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"Phoebe?" Spencer choked out, all the color draining from his face. His eyes darted from my priceless gown, to the terrifying billionaire standing beside me, and back to my face. "What... what is the meaning of this? How did you get in here?"
"She walked through the front door, Mr. Reed," my father answered, his voice slicing through the silence like a guillotine. "As the heir to the company hosting this event, she doesn't need an invitation."
