Chapter 3 - The Illusions Shatter
Richard froze.
His spine stiffened. He turned around slowly, as if moving underwater. Jessica shrank back, recognizing me instantly from the framed photographs in Richard’s office—the ones he used to portray himself as a dedicated family man to his investors.
I stepped out from behind the orchids and walked across the marble floor. The lobby seemed to quiet down as I moved.
"Victoria?" Richard breathed, the color completely draining from his face. He looked from me, to Patricia, to the four burly security guards who had suddenly materialized in a loose semi-circle behind him. "What... what are you doing here?"
"I own the hotel, Richard," I said smoothly, coming to a stop three feet away from him.
He blinked, his brain entirely unable to process the sentence. "What? No, you don't. This is a Davenport property."
"My maiden name is Davenport," I reminded him quietly. "My grandmother signed the deed for this building fifty years ago. I am the majority shareholder of Davenport Hospitality Group. Which means I own this lobby. I own the Presidential Suite you booked. And, unfortunately for you, I own the holding company that issues your corporate credit cards."
I looked at the front desk manager.
"Cut the card, Elena."
Elena produced a pair of heavy silver scissors from beneath the desk. With one sharp, definitive snip, she cut Richard's metal platinum card in half. The two pieces clattered loudly against the marble counter.
Jessica let out a small, horrified gasp. She dropped Richard’s arm and took a deliberate step away from him.
"Are you insane?" Richard whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and profound, paralyzing shock. "You froze my accounts? Over this? Over a weekend trip?"
"I froze your accounts because you laid your hands on me in my home," I said, the temperature in my voice dropping to absolute zero. I tilted my chin up, letting the lobby light catch the faint red marks still visible on my cheek. "You called me nothing. You told me that without you, I do not exist."
Richard’s eyes darted wildly around the lobby. Guests were staring. Whispering. The humiliation was settling over him like a suffocating blanket.
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"Victoria, please," he muttered, trying to grab my arm, trying to force me into the role of the compliant, quiet wife. "Don't do this here. Let's go up to the room and talk about this privately."
Patricia intercepted his hand, her grip like a steel vise. "Do not touch her."
