Chapter 3 - The Order to Kneel
The waiters had just finished serving the second course when the quiet elegance of Table One was disrupted by the heavy sound of footsteps.
Julian Alden was leaning in, showing Emma a magic trick with a silver coin, making her let out small, ringing laughs, when Patrick Bellamy stepped past the security boundary, flanked by Judith and Vanessa.
“Rebecca,” Patrick said loudly enough for the surrounding tables to hear. His voice carried a bizarre mixture of forced warmth and nervous aggression. “I see you finally decided to introduce us to your family.”
The ambient conversation at the neighboring tables—tables occupied by supreme court justices, tech CEOs, and international diplomats—faded into a curious silence.
Julian didn't look up from his coin trick. Rebecca slowly set her crystal glass of water down on the table, her blue eyes turning toward Patrick with a cold, unyielding stillness that made Patrick’s chest tighten.
“You shouldn't be standing here, Patrick,” Rebecca said, her tone smooth and quiet, yet slicing through the air like a razor.
Patrick forced a chuckle, stepping closer and reaching out as if to touch Emma’s shoulder. “Now, darling, let’s not cause a scene in front of your father. I admit, I was surprised to find out who you really are. But we are still married. We have a home in Brookline. We have a daughter together.”
Before Patrick’s hand could touch Emma, Julian’s hand moved with lightning speed. He caught Patrick by the wrist, squeezing until the bones in Patrick’s arm groaned under the pressure.
Patrick gasped, doubling over slightly as Julian stood up slowly, towering over him.
“Touch my granddaughter again,” Julian said, his baritone rumbling with lethal intent, “and you will leave this room in an ambulance.”
Judith stepped forward, her voice high and panicked. “Mr. Alden! Please! This is a family matter! Your daughter has been living under my son’s roof for seven years! He provided for her! He bought her clothes! He gave her a child!”
Rebecca stood up. The movement was so fluid, so commanding, that even the security personnel held their breath.
She looked at Judith, then at Vanessa, who was shrinking back behind Patrick, suddenly realizing the sheer scale of the power dynamic in the room.
“You provided for me, Patrick?” Rebecca asked softly. “You gave me an allowance that barely covered Emma’s groceries while you bought Vanessa Cartier bracelets with our joint account?”
The whispers among the surrounding socialites exploded like wildfire.
“Did she say joint account?”
“He brought his mistress to a charity gala?”
Patrick’s face turned bright red. “Rebecca, shut up! You signed the acknowledgment form this afternoon! You acknowledged the separation! If you want to negotiate terms, you do it through my legal counsel!”
Patrick stepped closer, trying to use his height to intimidate her, leaning over the table.
“You think you’re powerful because your father has money?” Patrick hissed under his breath, leaning down so only Table One could hear. “You are still the meek little girl who let me walk all over her for seven years. If you want me to keep quiet about your sudden disappearance with my daughter, you will sit down, you will apologize to Vanessa for ruining her gown, and you will order your father to sign Vanguard’s investment agreement right now!”
Patrick glared at Rebecca, his voice hardening into a snarl. “In fact, kneel down right here and beg me not to file for sole custody. Kneel, Rebecca!”
The entire head table went dead silent.
Judith smirked, crossing her arms, believing her son had successfully asserted his authority. Vanessa let out a small, cruel breath of laughter.
Rebecca didn't flinch. She looked down at Patrick with an expression not of fear, but of profound, absolute pity.
“You really don't know where you are, do you, Patrick?” Rebecca whispered.
Before Patrick could reply, little Emma slipped off her chair.
The five-year-old girl, seeing her mother being threatened by the man who had stood by while she was struck, looked around the glittering ballroom in desperation.
Her gray eyes scanned the sea of wealthy, powerful faces staring at their table.
Then, her eyes locked onto a tall, distinguished man standing near the grand staircase—a man surrounded by eight personal bodyguards, wearing a dark charcoal suit with a rare, crimson order of merit pinned to his lapel.
Emma broke away from Rebecca’s side.
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Her tiny patent-leather shoes clicked rapidly against the marble floor as she ran straight past the security ropes, past the gasping socialites, straight toward the wealthiest, most powerful man in the entire room—a man whose wealth exceeded even Julian Alden’s, the keynote international speaker of the evening: Lord Alexander Vance.
“GRANDPA!” Emma cried out, her small voice echoing across the silent ballroom. “GRANDPA VANCE!”
