Chapter 2 - The Ballroom of Parasites
The grand ballroom smelled of hundred-dollar cigars, spilled vintage champagne, and expensive perfume.
A dozen of my extended relatives—people who had ignored me when I was a struggling entrepreneur working twenty-hour shifts in a damp basement—were standing around catered buffet tables piled high with beluga caviar and wagyu beef.
My mother’s sister, Aunt Evelyn, stood near the center of the room wearing a diamond necklace she had undoubtedly raided from the estate’s secondary safe. Beside her, my uncle Richard was swirling a glass of fifty-year-old scotch that I kept locked in my private study.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Uncle Richard blustered, waving his glass at the red emergency lights. "Where are the servants?! Evelyn, call the house manager! The air conditioning has cut out!"
"The house manager is currently standing right in front of you, Richard."
My voice cut through the murmurs like an iron rod.
Every head in the room snapped toward the double mahogany doors.
I stepped into the dim, blood-red light of the ballroom. I was still wearing my traveling suit, drenched in dirty dishwater across the chest, my hands tucked casually into my trousers pockets. Marcus and four security guards stepped in behind me, sealing the massive doors shut with a heavy, metallic click.
Aunt Evelyn let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh, adjusting her silk shawl. "Julian! Darling! You're back early! Oh, what a wonderful surprise! We were throwing a surprise victory gala for your European deal! We wanted everything to be perfect for when you returned!"
"A victory gala?" I walked slowly toward the head table, my dress shoes clicking methodically against the parquet floor. "Is that why my wife was in the back kitchen scrubbing grease off sixty cast-iron pots until her skin bled?"
The room fell completely, suffocatingly silent.
Uncle Richard cleared his throat, setting his scotch down with a slight tremble. "Now, Julian... don't be dramatic. Clara is a sweet girl, but let's be honest—she comes from a modest background. She doesn't know how to host high-society events. Evelyn was simply giving her structure! Teaching her how a billionaire's wife ought to manage a grand household!"
"Structure?" I stopped two feet from Uncle Richard. I am six-foot-two, and the sheer aura of lethal authority I held made the fifty-five-year-old man take an involuntary step backward. "You turned the owner of this estate into an unpaid maid. You confiscated her phone, barred her from her own bedroom, and told her that if she didn't serve your guests, I would divorce her."
Aunt Evelyn’s eyes darted frantically toward the exit. "Julian... she lied to you! That girl is manipulative! She's trying to turn you against your own blood!"
"My wife didn't say a single word to me, Evelyn," I said softly, pulling my phone from my pocket. "Because she was too terrified to speak. But my hidden security cameras have recorded every single second of the last ninety days."
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I pressed a button on my screen.
The massive high-definition projector screen behind the bar flickered to life, illuminating the dark room with crystal-clear, high-definition video footage.
