Chapter 6 - A Queen Reborn
Spencer fell to his knees again.
This time, it wasn't because a bodyguard forced him down.
It was because his legs could no longer support the weight of his ruined life.
He crawled forward, ignoring the cameras flashing, ignoring the laughter and the scorn of the people he had tried so hard to impress.
He stopped at the hem of my crimson dress.
“Phoebe... please,” he begged, tears streaming down his face, completely ruining his flawless image. “I’m sorry. I was blind. I made a mistake. You love me, remember? You gave up everything for me! Please, give me another chance. We can go home.”
I looked down at him.
For three years, I had craved his validation.
I had waited by the window, hoping he would look up.
I had worn old clothes so he could buy new ones.
I searched my heart for even a flicker of the love I used to feel for him.
There was nothing but empty, cold air.
“We don't have a home, Spencer,” I said softly, but loud enough for him to hear. “The house in Shaker Heights was purchased under a shell company owned by Harrell International. My lawyers will be changing the locks at midnight.”
He gasped, looking up at me like a dying man grasping for air.
“You have nothing left, Spencer. Because without me, you were always nothing.”
I reached into my clutch and pulled out an envelope.
I dropped it on the floor in front of him.
“Sign the divorce papers by morning, or my father’s legal team will bury you so deep you won't see daylight again.”
I didn't wait for his answer.
I turned my back on him.
I linked my arm through my father's, and together, we walked out of the ballroom.
The crowd parted for us once more, but this time, there was absolute silence.
They weren't just looking at Raymond Harrell anymore.
They were looking at me.
They were looking at the new apex predator in the room.
The drive back to the Harrell estate was peaceful.
The city lights blurred past the windows of the Maybach, but they no longer looked like a cage. They looked like an empire waiting to be ruled.
“How do you feel, sweetheart?” my father asked, pouring us both a glass of scotch.
I took the glass.
I thought about the navy-blue dress sitting in the trash back at that empty house.
I thought about Spencer, sleeping on a bench somewhere, clutching a worthless company portfolio.
I took a sip of the scotch, feeling the fire burn down my throat, awakening something fierce and unstoppable inside me.
“I feel awake, Dad,” I smiled, looking out at the city. “I feel completely awake.”
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And as the car sped into the night, leaving the ghost of Phoebe Conway behind forever, I knew my story wasn't ending.
It was just beginning.
