Chapter 6 - THE GALANIGHT AMBUSH
Two weeks passed in total radio silence.
Felix blocked my number. Rya continued her quiet, calculated campaign online, posting subtle pictures of her and Felix living in a tiny rented apartment, framing themselves as courageous victims fighting against an oppressive billionaire matriarch.
The public loved the story of the "starving young lovers."
However, Rya’s true ambition was never to live in a small apartment. She wanted the crown.
The opportunity came at the annual Chicago Commercial Real Estate Gala—the most prestigious event of the year, where the city’s elite developers, investors, and political figures gathered to celebrate industry achievements.
As the founder and majority shareholder of Morrison Holdings, I was the keynote speaker and guest of honor.
At 7:30 PM, I arrived at the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel, dressed in a tailored navy silk gown, accompanied by Marcus Chen and my senior executive team. Photographers flashed their lights as I walked the red carpet into the glittering venue.
Halfway through the cocktail hour, a commotion erupted near the main entrance.
I turned my head to see Rya and Felix stepping into the ballroom.
Rya was wearing a jaw-dropping, backless emerald green designer dress that cost at least $8,000—a strange choice for a woman claiming to be broke—while Felix looked uncomfortable in a rented tuxedo.
Rya had purchased tickets using her father’s remaining credit line, intending to pull off the ultimate public coup in front of my corporate peers.
As soon as she spotted me standing near a group of international investors, Rya took a glass of red wine from a waiter’s tray and began walking directly toward my circle, pulling Felix along by his hand.
The room grew quiet as guests recognized the figures from the viral news stories.
“Dela,” Rya said loudly, her voice dripping with dramatic sorrow as she stopped three feet away from me. “I know you didn't want us here tonight. But Felix and I couldn't let another day pass while this terrible feud tears our family apart.”
The crowd began whispering, several high-profile investors watching the scene closely.
Rya stepped closer, holding her wine glass, her face twisted into a look of tragic pleading. “Please, Dela... we don't want your money. We just want you to accept us. Why won't you let us love you?”
It was a setup.
She was positioning herself close to me, wine glass in hand, waiting for me to either push her away or say something sharp so she could drop to the floor, spill the wine, and create a fresh viral scene that would destroy my corporate standing.
I didn't move an inch. I didn't raise my voice.
Instead, I looked past Rya’s emerald dress and focused my gaze entirely on my son.
“Felix,” I said softly, my voice echoing in the quiet room. “Did you know that your father-in-law, Arthur, just sold his company’s private shares to Apex Security three hours ago?”
Felix blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”
May you like
I gestured to Marcus Chen, who signaled the grand hall’s media team.
Suddenly, the massive digital screens above the gala stage—which usually displayed corporate sponsor logos—switched directly to a live land registry and corporate filing database.
