Chapter 9 - The Wheelchair
The crystal chandeliers suddenly dimmed.
The heavy mahogany doors at the back of the ballroom swung open with a violent, echoing crash. The applause instantly died.
Stepping into the room was Don Carlo Valente. He wasn't walking with the slow, retired posture of an old man anymore. He marched into the ballroom with terrifying, lethal authority, flanked by six massive, heavily armed enforcers.
But it was the person they were pushing in front of them that made the blood violently drain from Adrien's face.
It was Clare.
She was sitting in a medical wheelchair, wearing an elegant black dress, her head held incredibly high. The bruising on her face was still visible, serving as undeniable proof of Adrien's brutality.
Adrien dropped his microphone. The high-pitched screech of audio feedback pierced the silent room.
"Carlo... what is this?" Adrien stammered, his arrogant composure completely shattering as he backed away from the podium.
Carlo didn't answer him. The mafia boss walked directly up to the stage, pulling the black flash drive from his pocket and holding it up for the entire syndicate to see.
"This is the financial ledger of a traitor," Carlo roared, his booming voice paralyzing the room. "My stepson hasn't just beaten his innocent wife into a coma. He has embezzled forty million dollars from this family alongside his pathetic mistress."
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Vanessa let out a horrific, high-pitched scream, physically staggering backward as the cartel bosses in the crowd turned to glare at her with pure, unfiltered disgust.
👉 Adrien frantically lunged for the hidden weapon inside his jacket, but his stepfather was already ten steps ahead.
