Chapter 5 - The Sunrise Aftermath
The morning sun cast a golden glow across the sprawling gardens of the Sterling estate. I woke up in my old bedroom—the room with the bay window overlooking the rose garden, untouched since the day I married Isaac.
My wrists throbbed dully beneath the clean white bandages, but the mental fog that had clouded my judgment for years was entirely gone.
I dressed in a sharp black pantsuit, styled my hair into a sleek ponytail, and walked down to the grand dining room. My brothers and mother were already gathered around the mahogany table, reviewing financial briefs, legal filings, and morning newspapers.
The front-page headline of the city’s leading broadsheet screamed in bold black letters:
VANCE GLOBAL COLLAPSES AMID FEDERAL RAID; ARTHRU & ISAAC VANCE ARRESTED IN DAWN SWEEP.
Below the headline was a humiliating photograph of Isaac being led out of his own ballroom in handcuffs, his face half-hidden behind his bruised hands. Beside him, Wendy Vance was captured screaming at federal marshals, her designer sunglasses shattered on the pavement.
Leo dropped the newspaper onto the table with a satisfied smirk. “The media is having a field day. Turns out, half the city’s business elite had a score to settle with Arthur Vance. Once the blood was in the water, the sharks moved in.”
“And Isaac’s friends?” I asked, taking a seat and pouring a cup of black coffee.
“Scattering like roaches,” Julian replied without looking up from his tablet. “Not a single one of his ‘loyal’ associates has answered his calls from the detention center. His so-called friends are already scrubbing their social media accounts of any association with him. In high society, failure is contagious, and the Vances just caught the plague.”
My phone, resting beside my coffee cup, buzzed violently.
It was an unknown number—or rather, a blocked caller ID originating from the local county detention center.
I stared at the screen as it vibrated against the polished wood.
“Ignore it,” Noah said, reaching across the table to take the phone.
“No,” I said softly, holding up a hand. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
I pressed the accept button and put it on speakerphone, placing it squarely in the middle of the table so my entire family could listen.
“Flora? Flora, baby, please pick up!” Isaac’s voice came through the speaker, frantic, cracked, and desperate. Gone was the smug arrogance of the man who had laughed while holding a riding crop. He sounded like a terrified animal trapped in a cage. “Flora, you have to help me! They put me in a holding cell with three other guys, it’s freezing, they won’t let me call my lawyer—Julian blocked all my legal counsel! Please, drop the charges! Tell your brothers to call off the federal prosecutors! We can fix this, we can get counseling, we can—!”
I leaned slowly toward the phone, my voice steady, cold, and utterly devoid of emotion.
“Isaac.”
The desperate ramblings on the other end cut off instantly. “Flora? Oh, thank God, you’re there—please, tell me you’ll fix this—”
“You tied me to a ceiling beam in front of fifty people,” I said, every word dripping with ice. “You laughed while your mistress smiled. You told me to learn my place.”
“I was angry! I wasn’t thinking! Mom put those ideas in my head—!”
“No, Isaac,” I interrupted softly. “You were thinking clearly. That was the real you. Cowardly, sadistic, and small.”
“Flora, please! I’m your husband!”
“You were my mistake,” I corrected. “And now, you’re just a federal prisoner waiting for sentencing.”
“Flora, wait! Don’t hang up—!”
I pressed the red end-call button, cutting off his frantic pleading mid-sentence. The silence in the dining room was absolute.
May you like
Mom reached across the table, placing her warm hand over mine. “Well handled, my love.”
“Now,” I said, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket, “let’s go pay a visit to the divorce court. I have an empire to reclaim.”
