Chapter 6
The luminous, airy warmth of the dining room offered no solace to the woman kneeling on the patterned rug. Felicity sobbed uncontrollably, her face buried in her manicured hands, her diamond engagement ring catching the bright light in a mocking display of failed ambition. The silence stretched, tight and unforgiving, broken only by her ragged, panicked weeping.
Ambrose stood over her, an imposing monolith of masculine power. His polished leather shoes rested mere inches from the hem of her ruined silk gown. He waited, his patience a weapon as sharp and precise as a scalpel.
"Are you prepared to pack your belongings, or must I have my men burn them?" Ambrose asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.
Felicity flinched violently at the threat. She dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup, her eyes wide with primal terror. She knew the stories of what Ambrose Calder did to those who crossed him within his syndicate.
"You can't do this!" Felicity choked out, the venom finally breaking through her tears as self-preservation took over. "My father is Arthur Sloan! He commands the western ports! He will burn your empire to the ground if you humiliate me like this!"
"Is your father a man who fights battles for foolish, cruel daughters?" Ambrose asked quietly.
"He will kill you!" Felicity pleaded, reaching out to grasp the leg of his tailored trousers. "I am going to be your wife, Ambrose! We signed the contracts! You cannot back out now without causing a war!"
Ambrose looked down at the trembling woman clinging to his leg. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void that craved only survival and retribution.
"Do you expect me to harbor a monster under my roof to appease a shipping magnate?" Ambrose asked.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached down with his artistic, tattooed hands and forcefully peeled her fingers off his suit. He stepped back, severing all physical contact with her forever.
"Is there any reason I shouldn't have my men escort you to the basement holding cells immediately?" Ambrose inquired, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with immaculate precision.
"Ambrose, please, I have nowhere to go tonight!" Felicity wept, crawling forward on her knees.
"Are the consequences of your cruelty my concern?" Ambrose asked.
He reached into his jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear. The small neck tattoo shifted seamlessly with the movement.
"Will you send a security detail to the grand dining room?" Ambrose asked into the receiver. "Will you ensure Miss Sloan is escorted to the front gates with nothing but the clothes she arrived in?"
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He lowered the phone and looked at the broken socialite one last time.
"Have you finally realized the price of your ambition, Felicity?" Ambrose asked softly, as the heavy doors of the dining room burst open.
