Chapter 1 - LICK HER SHOES!" THE LAST HUMILIATION BEFORE THEIR EMPIRE COLLAPSED
The crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling reflected countless beams of golden light across the magnificent banquet hall. Every guest wore expensive suits and glittering gowns. Champagne flowed freely, and a string quartet continued playing as if nothing unusual was happening.
Then came the crack.
The whip tore through the air.
Its sharp sound echoed against the marble walls.
Everyone watched.
Nobody moved.
Nobody dared.
On the polished marble floor, Evelyn Hart knelt silently.
The once-elegant ivory gown she had worn to celebrate her fifth wedding anniversary was stained with blood and dust. Long crimson marks crossed her back where the leather whip had already landed several times.
Her black hair, usually tied neatly behind her shoulders, now covered half of her face.
Standing over her was her husband.
Damien Ashford.
The youngest chairman of Ashford Holdings.
The man newspapers called a visionary.
The man investors admired.
The monster only his family truly knew.
He grabbed a fistful of Evelyn's hair and yanked her head backward.
"Do you really think you're the lady of this house?"
His voice thundered across the ballroom.
"You are nothing!"
Another crack.
This time the whip struck the marble inches away from her hands.
Fragments of stone scattered across the floor.
Guests flinched.
Damien leaned closer.
"You only became Mrs. Ashford because I allowed it."
Laughter erupted.
Not from strangers.
From his own relatives.
His mother calmly sipped her wine.
His younger brother shook his head with amusement.
His aunt whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"I told him years ago she wasn't worthy."
Then another woman stepped forward.
Tall.
Beautiful.
Wrapped in an expensive scarlet evening dress.
Celeste.
The woman everyone secretly knew had been Damien's mistress for nearly two years.
Tonight, she no longer bothered hiding it.
She placed one sparkling high heel directly in front of Evelyn's face.
Her red lips curved into a smile.
"If she's so obedient..."
She tilted her head.
"Make her clean my shoes."
Another wave of laughter spread across the room.
Damien grinned.
"I like that idea."
He crouched beside Evelyn.
"Lick them."
Silence.
Only the violin continued playing.
"Lick them," Damien repeated.
"You've always been good at pretending to be humble."
Evelyn slowly looked at the black leather heel.
A drop of blood rolled down her neck onto the white marble.
She remained motionless.
Damien's smile disappeared.
"You still have pride?"
He grabbed her chin.
"I can destroy that too."
Celeste bent down until her perfume almost covered the scent of blood.
"Hurry up."
"You dog."
Someone in the audience laughed so hard that champagne spilled from his glass.
Another guest quietly turned away.
Nobody intervened.
Because everyone believed the same thing.
Evelyn Hart had no family.
No money.
No power.
No future.
She was simply the woman Damien had rescued from poverty five years ago.
Or so they thought.
Damien suddenly shoved her shoulder.
She fell sideways onto the cold floor.
Gasps filled the room.
Celeste clicked her tongue.
"So weak."
Damien lifted the whip again.
"This will teach you."
Before it could fall—
Evelyn spoke.
Very softly.
"So..."
She slowly pushed herself upright.
Her face was calm.
Far calmer than anyone expected.
She looked directly into Damien's eyes.
Then at Celeste.
Finally around the entire ballroom.
Every single guest.
Every relative.
Every business partner.
She memorized every face.
Then she smiled.
A strange smile.
Not one of fear.
Not one of surrender.
One that made several guests feel unexpectedly uneasy.
"Alright."
Her voice was almost a whisper.
"You've both made your choice."
Damien burst into laughter.
"My choice?"
He spread his arms dramatically.
"What exactly are you going to do?"
"You?"
"The woman who owns nothing?"
Even Celeste laughed.
"What can a beggar threaten us with?"
At that exact moment—
Buzz.
A phone vibrated.
Everyone looked toward the sound.
It was Evelyn's phone.
Still lying beside her on the marble floor where Damien had thrown it earlier.
The screen illuminated.
One message.
Only one sentence.
"The legal team has arrived at the main gate."
"Awaiting your authorization."
Evelyn looked at the message.
Then at Damien.
She pressed one button.
Reply.
"Begin."
Nothing else.
No explanation.
No panic.
No hesitation.
She simply placed the phone back onto the floor.
Damien laughed louder than before.
"Legal team?"
"You think lawyers can scare me?"
"I own judges."
"My family owns half this city."
Guests nodded confidently.
Some even applauded.
Then—
The music stopped.
Not because the musicians wanted to.
Because every light inside the ballroom flickered once.
Twice.
Three times.
The giant electronic display above the stage suddenly went black.
The sound system emitted a harsh burst of static.
The ballroom doors slowly opened.
Cold night air entered.
Several men and women wearing black business suits stepped inside.
None of them looked frightened.
Each carried identical silver briefcases.
Leading them was an elderly gentleman with perfectly white hair.
His tailored charcoal suit bore no visible logo.
Yet the moment one elderly guest saw him...
The wine glass slipped from his trembling hand.
It shattered on the floor.
His face turned completely white.
"No..."
he whispered.
"It can't be him..."
The old man removed his gloves with calm precision.
His eyes settled on Evelyn.
He bowed.
Not slightly.
Completely.
Deep enough that the entire ballroom gasped.
"Miss Hart."
"We apologize for arriving five minutes later than scheduled."
"The board is waiting for your instruction."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Damien frowned.
"...Who are you?"
The elderly man slowly turned toward him.
His expression contained neither anger nor contempt.
Only professional courtesy.
"My name is Charles Whitmore."
"I serve as Chief Counsel..."
He paused deliberately.
"...to the Hart International Family Office."
For the first time that evening—
Damien's confident smile froze.
Outside the villa...
More than twenty black luxury vehicles had just entered through the front gate.
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And every guard Damien had hired...
Was quietly stepping aside.
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