Chapter 9 - THE EMPRESS'S DESK
-9
The obsidian doors of the Escalante Group executive suite opened silently, revealing a cavernous, magnificent office that occupied the entire thirty-sixth floor. The room was bathed in the cool, twilight glow of the city skyline, the floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering a breathtaking panorama of the metropolitan financial district—every single skyscraper of which was directly or indirectly owned by the Escalante family trust.
Andrew Vance stumbled through the doorway, shoved gently forward by the two security operatives.
His knees felt weak. His expensive Brioni suit now looked like a beggar's rags in the opulent grandeur of the penthouse office. He clutched his side as he looked around the room, gasping for breath.
Sitting behind a massive, sleek mahogany desk at the far end of the room was Mariana.
She wore an immaculate charcoal-grey silk blouse, her dark hair pulled back into a flawless, severe bun. Her posture was regal, her expression cold and completely detached. Beside her stood Marcus Sterling, holding the master asset portfolio, and Hector Escalante, who watched from the shadows near the window like a silent sentinel.
Mariana did not look up immediately. She continued signing a stack of legal documents with a heavy gold fountain pen, the deliberate scratching sound echoing loudly in the silent room.
Andrew stood trembling in the center of the vast Persian rug, unable to process the sheer scale of the power surrounding him.
"Mariana..." Andrew began, his voice breaking into a pathetic, desperate whine. "Mariana, please... I’m sorry. I was blind. I was stressed about the company, I didn't know what I was doing... please, you have to help me. You’re my wife—"
Mariana stopped writing.
She slowly capped her fountain pen, placed it neatly beside the stack of papers, and raised her dark, piercing eyes to look directly at him.
The look in her eyes made Andrew instantly freeze. There was no love there. No anger. Just the absolute, terrifying void of someone looking at an insect beneath a microscope.
"Your wife?" Mariana repeated, her voice smooth, quiet, and cutting like a razor blade. "Is that what you called me last night, Andrew? When you struck my face in front of your mistress? When you ordered me to kneel and crawl out of your house?"
Andrew flinched violently, taking a half-step backward. "I... I didn't know! If you had just told me who you were—if you had told me your family owned all of this—"
"If I had told you who I was, you never would have loved me at all," Mariana interrupted, leaning back in her executive leather chair, resting her hands calmly on the desk. "You married a woman you believed was poor, ordinary, and defenseless because it fed your pathetic need for superiority. You needed someone to look down on so you could feel like a king."
She stood up slowly, walking around the mahogany desk and stepping toward him with deliberate, measured paces. The click of her heels against the polished floor sounded like approaching executioner's footsteps.
"You called my handbags cheap," Mariana whispered, stopping just two feet away from him. "You mocked my voice. You told your mother and your mistress that I didn't belong in your world."
Andrew fell heavily onto his knees.
It wasn't an order this time. It wasn't a demand made with a raised hand or a cruel laugh. It was the desperate, instinctual surrender of a broken man realizing he was standing before an absolute monarch.
"Please, Mariana..." Andrew sobbed, tears streaming down his mud-stained cheeks as he reached out to grab the hem of her trousers. "Please... forgive me. I’ll do anything. I’ll be a good husband. I’ll worship the ground you walk on. Just don't destroy me..."
Mariana looked down at him, her expression unchanging. She slowly pulled her trouser leg away from his trembling fingers, stepping back as if avoiding a piece of garbage on the floor.
"Four years ago, you gave me a choice," Mariana said, her voice echoing coldly through the grand penthouse. "You made me kneel in your heart, Andrew. You made me crawl through your insults, pretending I was small so you could feel tall."
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She turned her back to him, walking back toward the grand floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the glittering empire she had built.
"Now... it is your turn."
