Chapter 8 - The Great Standing
The silence in the St. Regis Grand Ballroom was so profound that the faint humming of the chandeliers sounded like an approaching storm.
Ethan Vance planted his leather-soled shoes firmly onto the cold marble floor.
Brooke’s breath hitched in her throat. "What is he doing?" she gasped. "He can't... the doctor said..."
Ethan leaned forward. His massive back muscles engaged, rippling beneath his tailored jacket. Slowly, effortlessly, with the fluid grace of an apex predator rising from its rest, Ethan Vance rose out of the wheelchair.
He stood tall.
Over six feet two inches of pure, unyielding, imposing power.
There was no tremor in his legs. No hesitation in his stride. His spine was straight as a sword, his broad shoulders squared, towering over the room like an ancient emperor returning from exile.
Gasps of pure, unadulterated shock erupted across the ballroom. Women dropped their clutches; men stood up from their tables, their eyes bulging in utter disbelief.
"He’s... he’s walking!" someone screamed.
"His legs were never broken?!" another cried.
Ethan took one step forward. Then another. His footsteps echoed with deliberate, crushing finality against the marble floor. *Click. Click. Click.*
Brooke stumbled backward, her hand flying to her mouth, tears of sheer terror welling in her eyes. "Ethan... you... you can walk?!"
Ethan didn't look at her yet. He walked toward the main stage, his gray eyes locked entirely onto Chad Harrington. Every step he took stripped away the veneer of wealth and arrogance that Chad had worn like armor. Chad’s knees literally trembled; he took a step back, bumping into the floral arrangement on the podium.
"You see, Chad," Ethan’s voice cut through the ballroom, without the need for a microphone, deep, resonant, and chillingly clear. "When a man builds an empire, he finds himself surrounded by people who claim to love him. But when the light fades, you quickly discover who is a friend, who is a lover... and who is a parasite."
Ethan stopped at the foot of the stage, looking up at the two people who had danced on his supposed grave.
"The car accident was real," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper that carried across the breathless room. "The spinal injury? A fabricated medical file, leaked exclusively to my private board of directors and my loving fiancée."
Brooke began to weep, her chest heaving in panicked gasps. "Ethan, baby, please... listen to me!"
May you like
"I wanted to see," Ethan continued, his gaze shifting to Brooke, cold as an arctic winter, "how long it would take for the woman who swore eternal love to sell my soul to the highest bidder. It took forty-eight hours, Brooke. Forty-eight hours for you to jump into Chad’s bed and sign over my proxy rights."
***
