PART 5: The Fall of the Mask
PART 5: The Fall of the Mask
Desperation reveals true monster colors.
Victoria stared at me as if I had spoken a foreign language, her chest heaving heavily beneath her designer dress, her carefully styled hair becoming slightly disheveled from her frantic movements.
"You’re bluffing," she spat out, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and hysterical denial. "You’re just trying to scare me because you think you can control everything! If you cancel this wedding, my father’s corporate conglomerate will pull every single logistics contract from your ports within twenty-four hours! You’ll lose millions!"
I let out a cold, humorless laugh that echoed against the high wooden rafters.
"Your father’s conglomerate?" I mocked softly. "Victoria, your father’s conglomerate is currently being audited by the federal tax division on my direct authorization. Three of his shell companies in the Cayman Islands were seized this morning before sunrise."
Her jaw dropped so low I thought it might detach.
"You... you what?"
"Did you really think a woman of your limited intellect and infinite vanity could sneak into my life without a complete background check?" I asked, stepping right up to her until she was forced to lean back against the edge of the mahogany table. "I knew about your father’s debt. I knew about your forged university credentials. I even knew about your expensive tastes in gambling debts in Monaco."
"Then... then why did you propose?" she whispered, her voice breaking into a pathetic, terrified whine. "Why did you bring me here?!"
"Because I wanted to see how long it would take for the wolf to take off the sheepskin," I answered, my eyes boring straight through her soul. "And you couldn't even last thirty days without showing your teeth to the people who couldn't fight back."
Victoria’s expression shifted instantly from shock to desperate, fawning manipulation.
She lunged forward, grabbing my lapels with her manicured fingers, squeezing out theatrical tears that spilled over her eyelashes with practiced theatricality.
"Preston... please!" she sobbed, pressing her forehead against my chest. "I was just stressed! The wedding planning, the pressure of society, the media scrutiny... it made me crazy! I love you! I’ll apologize to your mother! I’ll beg Sarah for forgiveness! Please don't ruin me publicly!"
I looked down at her clinging to my suit jacket like a drowning rat.
There was no empathy left in my chest—only the cold, hard satisfaction of a judge delivering a final verdict.
I reached up, unclasped her fingers one by one from my lapel, and pushed her gently away.
"Save the performance for the judge, Victoria," I said quietly.
May you like
Just as I finished the sentence, the heavy oak doors of the drawing room swung open with a sharp, echoing snap.
Four armed security operatives in black tactical gear marched into the room, led by Marcus, holding a pair of heavy steel zip-ties and an official federal subpoena.
