PART 5: Unmasking the Queen Bee
PART 5: Unmasking the Queen Bee
Arrogant heiresses face sudden public humiliation.
The shockwave of Harrison’s words hit the ballroom like a physical blow.
Julian’s smile faltered, her painted lips parting in utter disbelief.
"What... what do you mean you own it, Harrison?" Julian stammered, letting go of his sleeve as if it suddenly burned her. "The St. Regis is a Vance Family Trust property! Grandfather left it to all of us!"
"Grandfather left it to the trust," Harrison corrected smoothly, sliding his hands casually into the pockets of his tuxedo trousers. "A trust that went through a complete equity restructuring three months ago when you and your siblings voted to liquidate the commercial assets to fund your European yacht trips. I bought out your shares in full cash."
He paused, letting the crushing reality of his words sink into Julian’s hollow skull.
"Technically speaking, Julian, you are standing on my floor, breathing my air, and wearing a dress financed by dividends I personally sign off on."
A collective murmur of stunned awe rippled through the surrounding guests.
Several prominent investors hastily stepped away from Julian, suddenly realizing that aligning themselves with the losing side of a Vance family power struggle was professional suicide.
Julian’s face cycled through a terrifying spectrum of emotions—confusion, humiliation, and finally, burning, unadulterated fury.
"You're defending a maid over your own family?!" Julian shrieked, her voice cracking as she pointed a shaking finger directly at Clara. "That dirty little peasant—!"
"Watch your mouth," Harrison cut her off, his voice dropping into a dark, razor-sharp register that made even the burly security guards near the doors tense up.
He didn't stop there.
Harrison walked past Julian, completely ignoring her outstretched, pleading hand, and stopped directly in front of Clara.
To the absolute horror of every high-society guest watching, the multi-billion-dollar tech titan reached out, gently took Clara’s hand in his, and raised it to inspect her fingers for any cuts from the shattered glass.
"Are you hurt?" Harrison asked, his voice softening into a tender, intimate register that the corporate world had never witnessed.
Clara offered a small, reassuring smile, shaking her head.
"I'm fine, Harrison. Just a little shaken."
Harrison.
She used his first name.
Not Mr. Vance. Not Sir.
Just Harrison.
Arthur, the general manager, looked like he was about to faint right onto the marble floor.
Julian stared at the interaction, her brain struggling to compute the impossible math playing out before her eyes.
"Harrison... why are you calling her by her first name?" Julian whispered, horror slowly creeping into her voice. "Who... who is she?"
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Harrison turned slowly, pulling Clara closer against his side, wrapping his arm securely around her waist.
"Allow me to introduce you," Harrison announced to the entire silent ballroom, his voice echoing cleanly off the high vaulted ceilings. "This is Clara Vance. My wife."
