I Found A New Wife On The Day Of My Divorce

Chapter 7: The Gatekeepers

"I told you, my invitation is in the mail, and my husband—well, my fiancé—is a primary investor in the Miller Group!" 

Sarah’s shrill voice cut through the evening air like a rusty blade. I watched through the tinted glass of my hyper-car as she clawed at the air, her face turning a blotchy red that even her expensive foundation couldn't hide. She was standing at the edge of the red carpet, blocked by a wall of security guards who looked like they were carved from granite.

"My instructions are clear, ma'am," the lead guard stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "The names Sarah Miller and Bradley Thorne have been flagged. Your access has been revoked. Please move to the side so the actual guests can arrive."

"Do you know who I am?" Bradley stepped forward, puffing out his chest. He was wearing a tuxedo that looked like it had been rented an hour ago—the sleeves were a fraction too long, making him look like a child playing dress-up. "I’m Bradley Thorne! I’m the one who finally took this woman away from a deadbeat delivery driver. I have more money in my cufflinks than you make in a year!"

I leaned back in the Italian leather seat, a cold smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I didn't feel the need to rush. This was the overture to the symphony of their destruction.

"My turn," Seraphina whispered beside me. She adjusted the diamond choker at her neck, her eyes gleaming with the same predatory hunger I felt. "Ready to show them what a 'deadbeat' actually looks like, Xavier?"

"I’ve been ready for three years," I replied.

I signaled the driver. The engine of the Apollo Intensa roared, a sound of raw power that silenced the bickering at the gate. As we pulled up to the center of the red carpet, the crowd of photographers turned as one, their flashes creating a blinding strobe light effect. 

I stepped out first. 

The weight of my bespoke suit felt like armor. I didn't look at the cameras. I didn't look at the crowd. I looked directly at Sarah.

"Xavier?" Sarah’s jaw dropped so low I thought it might hit the pavement. She squinted through the camera flashes, her eyes darting from my face to the car, then to the hand I held out for Seraphina. "What... What are you doing here? Did you steal that car? Security! Arrest him! He’s stalking me! He’s a delivery boy who lost his mind because I divorced him!"

Bradley let out a forced, nervous laugh. "I knew it! You actually borrowed a hyper-car to try and impress her? You’re pathetic, Knight. You’re going to be in debt for the next fifty years just for the rental f*e on that suit."

I ignored them both. I turned my back on their noise and helped Seraphina out of the car. The moment her heels hit the carpet, a gasp rippled through the onlookers. The daughter of the Vance empire was standing hand-in-hand with the man they thought was a nobody.

"The security here is slipping, Xavier," Seraphina said loudly enough for the front row to hear. "They’re letting the trash pile up at the entrance. It’s bad for the aesthetic."

"I’ll handle it, my love," I said.

The Head of Security, a man who had ignored Bradley’s shouting for twenty minutes, suddenly stepped forward. He didn't just move; he snapped into a crisp, military salute. Then, he did something that caused the blood to drain from Sarah’s face entirely.

He bowed. Deeply.

"Welcome home, Chairman Knight," the Head of Security announced, his voice carrying over the speakers. "The VIP ballroom has been cleared for your arrival. Your private elevator is ready."

I felt Sarah’s eyes burning into the back of my head, a mixture of horror and realization finally beginning to dawn on her. I turned my head just enough to catch her gaze.

"I told you not to get kicked out, Sarah," I said, my voice smooth and lethal. "But then again, you never were very good at following directions. Guards, they’re blocking the view. Remove them. They don't belong in my sight."

As the security team surged forward to physically haul a screaming Bradley and a frozen Sarah away from the carpet, I turned to the cameras and smiled. The face-slap hadn't just landed—it had left a permanent mark.