Part 2: MY HUSBAND HAD ME ESCORTED OUT OF OUR LUXURY RESORT WHILE HI

The clock struck 11:42 PM. Marcus and his glittering prize hadn’t even finished their victory champagne when the penthouse double doors swung open. They weren’t greeted by room service, but by the resort’s Head of Security, flanked by four imposing guards.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus barked, adjusting his bespoke tuxedo. “I own this hotel! Have her thrown out!”

“Correction, sir,” the security chief said, his voice completely stripped of its usual reverence. “You *managed* this hotel. Your executive privileges were revoked three minutes ago.”

Marcus scoffed, whipping out his phone to call his lawyers, but the screen was already flashing with catastrophic alerts. His master access codes? Invalidated. His corporate accounts? Frozen. He was so busy taking the credit for the last nine years, he never read the fine print: the master holding company he paraded as his own was legally registered as a subsidiary of the Sterling Family Trust.

*My* family’s trust.

I stepped out from behind the security detail, my minimalist black dress now looking less like a tragedy and more like armor. The tears I shed at the bottom of the grand staircase were gone, replaced by a razor-sharp smile.

The blonde mistress gasped, instinctively clutching the enormous, dazzling brooch on her shoulder.

“That brooch,” I pointed, stepping onto the polished marble floors of the penthouse I had designed from scratch, “belongs to my late grandmother. Confiscate it, gentlemen. Then take them out.”

“You can’t do this!” Marcus roared, his arrogant composure shattering into desperate, ugly panic. “I built this empire! I am the CEO!”

“You were a figurehead, Marcus,” I whispered, leaning in close enough to see the sheer terror vibrating in his eyes. “I only let you wear the crown so I wouldn’t have to deal with the press.”

I didn’t even watch as they were dragged toward the service elevator, Marcus screaming empty threats into the void. Instead, I simply poured myself a fresh glass of champagne.

Midnight hadn’t even struck, and the king was already a peasant.