Chapter 7 - Reckoning at Gunpoint
Marcus stumbled forward, his designer sneakers squeaking against the polished obsidian floor of the VIP lounge.
The music in the room didn't stop, but the surrounding conversations died down to an absolute, suffocating silence.
Everyone watched with cold, clinical interest as the frightened insurance salesman was brought before our booth.
“Please!” Marcus stammered, his eyes darting frantically around the room before landing directly on me. “Sarah! Thank God. Look, whatever mistake I made—whoever these crazy people are—please tell them to let me go!”
I sat frozen in my emerald-green gown, holding my champagne flute with fingers that suddenly felt ice-cold.
Marcus looked pathetic.
Gone was the arrogant swagger he wore when leaving his gym bag in our hallway; gone was the cold confidence of his breakup note.
Faced with real power, he was nothing more than a frightened boy.
Viktor didn't stand up.
He didn't raise his voice.
He simply set his glass down on the marble table with a soft clink that echoed through the entire lounge like a gunshot.
“Mr. Holloway,” Viktor said, his voice smooth, dangerous, and utterly devoid of warmth. “You had a very specific set of instructions. Take your suitcase, take your Uber, and leave the premises.”
“I forgot my watch!” Marcus shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at his wrist. “My grandfather’s gold watch was on the nightstand! They wouldn't let me pack it!”
Viktor tilted his head slightly, signaling the guard behind Marcus.
The massive man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy gold watch, dropping it carelessly onto the table in front of me.
It skidded across the glass and stopped right beside my champagne flute.
“There,” Viktor said calmly. “Your watch is retrieved. Now, why are you disturbing a birthday celebration?”
Marcus looked at me, his eyes wide with desperate betrayal.
“Sarah, please! Tell these lunatics to back off! We were together for three years! We built a life! You can't just throw me away for some rich guy you met tonight!”
The irony of his words hit me like a physical blow.
You can't just throw me away.
Those exact words had been echoing in my head all evening, spoken by the man who had discarded me via a restaurant hostess on my birthday.
Slowly, deliberately, I set my glass down.
I stood up from the plush leather booth.
The emerald silk dress pooled around my heels.
I walked out from behind the table until I stood face-to-face with Marcus.
Up close, I could smell cheap cologne and sheer panic rolling off him.
“You didn't want a life with me, Marcus,” I said, my voice steady, clear, and resonant in the quiet room. “You wanted an audience. You wanted someone to pay the bills, cook your dinners, and applaud your mediocre ambitions while you looked for someone better.”
Marcus opened his mouth, stammering for an excuse.
“Sarah, baby, listen, I was stressed—”
I raised my hand.
Slap.
The sharp crack of skin hitting skin echoed off the obsidian walls.
Marcus staggered back, clutching his cheek, staring at me as if I had turned into a monster.
“That,” I said calmly, smoothing the front of my dress, “is for three years of wasted time. And the watch is yours. Now, get out of my sight before Mr. Kozlov decides to display your other belongings from the roof.”
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Viktor watched from the booth, a slow, dark smile spreading across his lips, his eyes shining with absolute pride.
Two guards grabbed Marcus by the shoulders and hauled him backward toward the elevators, his muffled protests fading as the heavy steel doors closed behind him.
