The heavy thud of the Rolls-Royce door echoed over the thunder, sounding exactly like a judge’s gavel.
Adrian’s smirk dissolved into a mask of chalky terror. The man stepping out from beneath the black umbrella wasn’t just his idol; Lionel Ashford owned the bank that held every loan Adrian had ever taken.
“Mr. Ashford! Sir, there’s a misunderstanding—” Adrian stammered, his tuxedo suddenly feeling like a straitjacket as he rushed to the edge of the portico.
Lionel didn’t even look at him. He walked up the wet marble steps, stopping beside Claire. He gently draped his dry suit jacket over her freezing, rain-soaked shoulders.
“You missed your midnight balloon payment, Adrian,” Lionel said, his voice cutting effortlessly through the storm. “Which means Ashford Holdings now owns this estate, your company, and every offshore account you thought you hid.”
The mistress, trembling in her dry gold silk, desperately clutched the diamond necklace at her throat. She tried to slip back inside the grand foyer, but Lionel snapped his fingers. Adrian’s own head of security stepped out from the shadows, blocking her path.
“Marcus works for me,” Lionel stated coldly. “He always has.”
Marcus unclasped the diamonds from the shrieking mistress’s neck with brutal efficiency, handing them back to Claire.
Adrian dropped to his knees in the freezing mud, the downpour ruining his bespoke suit. “Claire, please! I built this empire! I am the CEO!”
Claire stood tall, her mother’s blue diamonds resting against her skin once again. A cold, magnificent smile spread across her lips.
“You didn’t build an empire, Adrian,” she whispered, her voice laced with absolute venom. “You were just managing my trust fund. And you’re fired.”
She turned and stepped into the back of the waiting Rolls-Royce. As the heavy iron gates began to swing shut, locking Adrian and his screaming mistress outside in the torrential rain, Claire rolled down the window.
“Like you said, darling,” she smiled. “You are nothing without me.”