Chapter 6
The presidential penthouse of the St. Regis was washed in bright, natural mid-afternoon light that reflected off the white marble floors and polished brass fixtures. Large floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sprawling Manhattan skyline under a clear, pale blue autumn sky. There were no dark shadows here; everything was sharp, luminous, and pristine.
Lucy sat in the center of a massive velvet sofa, wearing a clean, oversized cashmere sweater that belonged to Maya. In her hands, she held a warm mug of milk and honey, her eyes wide and quiet as she watched the clouds drift past the skyscraper spires.
Dr. Cole knelt on the Persian rug beside the sofa, gently applying an antibiotic ointment to the minor cuts on Lucy's scalp with a cotton swab.
"She's going to be fine physically, Maya," Dr. Cole said quietly, looking up at Maya, who was standing by the window with an untouched espresso in her hand. "The lacerations are superficial. But the psychological trauma... she believed her father agreed with the punishment. That will take time to heal."
Maya took a slow, measured sip of her espresso. She had finally changed out of her evening gown into a tailored ivory silk pantsuit, though her diamonds remained, gleaming like cold daggers.
"She will not remember her father's approval," Maya said, her voice steady and immovable. "She will only remember that her mother burned their world to the ground."
Lucy looked up from her mug, her lower lip trembling slightly. "Mommy? Am I still pretty?"
The question tore through Maya’s iron composure with the force of an artillery shell. She set the espresso down on the side table with a faint clink, crossed the room in two strides, and knelt down on the rug beside Dr. Cole. She gathered Lucy’s small, fragile body into her arms, pressing her lips against the freshly treated skin of her daughter's scalp.
"You are the most beautiful girl in this entire world, Lucy," Maya whispered, her voice rich with an overwhelming, protective fierce love. "You are my daughter. You carry the blood of kings and conquerors. Hair is just grass on a hill—it grows back thicker and stronger after the fire. Do you understand me?"
Lucy nodded slowly, burying her face into Maya’s shoulder. "Grandma said you were bad. She said you came from bad people."
Maya’s jaw tightened once, a sharp ripple of muscle beneath her fair, rosy skin. "Grandma is about to discover just how bad we can be."
The heavy double doors of the penthouse study clicked open, and Frank stepped into the room, holding an encrypted satellite tablet.
"Boss," Frank said, his voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur. "Arthur Whitaker just called an emergency board meeting at their Midtown headquarters. Andrew and Elaine are there now. They just filed an emergency petition for temporary sole custody with Judge Vance."
Maya rose from the rug, smoothing the lapels of her ivory suit, her eyes turning into twin shards of grey ice.
"Judge Vance," Maya murmured softly. "The man whose offshore accounts in Grand Cayman are managed by my third shell company."
May you like
"The very same," Frank replied with a faint, lethal smirk.
"Bring the car around, Frank," Maya commanded. "It's time to attend a board meeting."
