Chapter 8 - A Mother’s Wrath
The following Monday, the Thorne Tower in the financial district was surrounded by hundreds of reporters and flashing cameras.
It was the day of the Thorne Global Enterprises annual shareholder summit. For years, Arthur Thorne had kept his primary heir hidden from the public eye, protecting me from corporate rivals and political predators. But the era of hiding was over.
The sleek black Maybach pulled up to the red carpet. The chauffeur opened the door, and I stepped out.
Gasps echoed through the press corps.
I wore an emerald-green tailored suit designed by an Italian master, the fabric hugging my silhouette with regal elegance. My mother’s sapphire necklace sparkled against my throat, and my dark hair cascaded over my shoulders in refined, perfect waves. There was no trace of the battered housewife in my eyes—only absolute, commanding authority.
Behind me, Arthur stepped out, wearing an impeccably tailored charcoal three-piece suit. He offered me his arm with a proud smile.
"Ready, Vivienne?"
"More than ready, Dad."
As we entered the grand atrium, applause erupted from the board members, institutional investors, and foreign dignitaries gathered in the hall. Among them, however, stood several familiar faces from the night at the Grand Elysium—socialites and executives who had cheered Daniel and mocked me when I was thrown onto the street.
Among them was Marcus Sterling, CEO of Sterling Logistics, who had personally laughed when Daniel called me a beggar.
"Chairman Thorne! Miss Thorne!" Marcus approached with a sickeningly obsequious smile, sweat beading on his forehead. "What an honor! We... we were simply unaware of your identity at the Vance gala! A tragic misunderstanding!"
I paused, turning my gaze toward Marcus. The room fell dead silent.
"A misunderstanding, Mr. Sterling?" I asked coolly. "Is that what you call telling Daniel that penniless women are like cheap napkins, meant to be used and thrown away?"
Marcus turned white as sheet paper. "I... I was joking, Miss Thorne! It was locker room talk! We have a forty-million-dollar supply contract up for renewal with Thorne Logistics next week—"
"Had," I interrupted, my voice smooth as silk. "You *had* a contract. Cassandra, terminate all business relations with Sterling Logistics by the end of today. Transfer the shipping routes to the Horizon Group."
"Miss Thorne, please! That contract accounts for seventy percent of our revenue! We'll go bankrupt!" Marcus dropped to his knees right in front of the press cameras, completely abandoning his dignity.
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"Then you should have watched your tongue, Mr. Sterling," I said, walking past him without a second glance. "In this city, words have consequences. And mine are law."
The reporters' flashbulbs went crazy. The headline for the evening news was already written: *The Return of the Thorne Empress.*