Chapter 2 - The Unseen Weight of Power
Sadi stood perfectly still. The throbbing in her calf was a dull, rhythmic ache, but her heart rate remained surprisingly steady. Three years ago, Trevor’s words would have shattered her. She would have apologized, cried, and retreated into the shadows. But three years was a long time. It was long enough to die and be reborn. It was long enough to become the wife of a ghost.
“I’m not leaving,” Sadi said, her voice quiet, steady, and devoid of any emotion. “And I highly suggest you step back.”
Trevor let out a loud, incredulous scoff. He took another step forward, closing the distance until he was towering over her. “Or what? You’ll cry? You’ll scream for the manager? Look around you, Sadi. Do you think anyone in this galleria cares about a rat in torn jeans? You don't belong here. You will never belong here.”
He raised his hand, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at her chest. But before he could make contact, a sharply dressed man with an earpiece materialized from the shadows of the boutique’s private viewing room. It was the store manager, Monsieur Laurent. And he looked absolutely terrified.
Laurent didn't look at Trevor. He bypassed the arrogant lawyer completely and practically threw himself in front of Sadi, his face pale.
“Madame,” Laurent breathed, his voice trembling slightly. “I am so deeply sorry. Are you hurt? Should I call for a medical team? The private lounge is open for you immediately.”
Trevor froze. Chloe’s perfectly threaded eyebrows shot up to her hairline.
“Madame?” Trevor repeated, letting out a harsh laugh. “Buddy, I think you’ve got the wrong girl. This chick used to wash dishes at a diner on 4th Street. She can’t even afford the air in this store.”
Laurent slowly turned his head toward Trevor. The absolute panic in the manager's eyes was instantly replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated horror—not directed at Sadi, but at Trevor.
“Sir,” Laurent said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I do not know who you are. But you have just laid your hands on the owner of this entire galleria.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone. Trevor’s smirk faltered. He looked at the manager, then back at Sadi, waiting for the punchline. “What? That’s impossible. Sadi is broke.”
“I’m fine, Laurent,” Sadi said softly, ignoring Trevor entirely. She touched her knee briefly. “It’s just a bruise. Wrap up those rhodium cufflinks for me. Have them sent to the penthouse.”
“Right away, Madame. And… the gentleman?” Laurent asked, his eyes darting toward Trevor, a silent question lingering in the air. Do you want him destroyed?
Sadi looked at Trevor. Really looked at him. She saw the cheap lining of his expensive suit. She saw the desperation in his posture. He was nothing. Just a ghost of a past she no longer inhabited.
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“Leave him,” Sadi said quietly. “He’s not worth the paperwork.” She turned on her heel, the soft cashmere of her sweater catching the light, and walked away.
Trevor stood frozen on the marble floor, his mind short-circuiting. Owner of the galleria? Sadi? It was a prank. It had to be a prank. But as three men in dark suits quietly stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path and ushering him aggressively toward the nearest exit, a cold pit of dread began to form in his stomach.
