The Heir They Humiliated

CHAPTER 10

 

I was back in Kingston three days later. It had been the best "vacation" of my life, though it was the only one I’d ever had. Helen was a revelation; between sharing my bed and the quiet moments in the penthouse, she had taught me more about the Van Alen Dynasty than any textbook could.

"You need to learn how to shoot, Carter," she said as we rode in a matte-black Bugatti toward the estate.

"Someday," I replied dismissively. I had no desire to touch the cold steel of a weapon again.

"You’re going to need it. Range practice. Tomorrow," she insisted. I looked at her, but her expression was a deadpan wall.

"Fine," I surrendered. "But it doesn't mean I’m going to start carrying one."

She just smirked. "You'll get the hang of it."

"I won't. Right now, I need a new wardrobe. I’ll find the nearest boutique and—"

"Christ, you don't need to 'find' anything," she interrupted, looking horrified. "Tell me what you need, and I’ll have the designers deliver a seasonal collection by tonight."

"I’m my own man, Helen. I do my own shopping, okay?" I felt the old habits of my life as a commoner pulling at me.

"Fine," she sighed, clearly realizing I hadn't fully adapted to the Van Alen skin yet. "But at least shop at a boutique under the company's umbrella. It’s safer."

I nodded. "Sure, as long as I don't have a horde of guards swarming me."

Helen cleared her throat and looked out the window.

"The fuck? I do?" I asked, bewildered.

"You didn't notice the three-car convoy behind us?"

Following her directions, I drove to a massive, glass-fronted boutique. I bypassed the main entrance, heading for the private garage at the back. As I reached for the door handle, Helen stopped me.

"Something for you, Mr. Van Alen."

"We’ve spent the last three nights together and you’re still calling me Mr. Van Alen?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Old habits. Here." She handed me a sleek black card with gold-foiled edges. My name, CARTER VAN ALEN, was embossed in elegant, minimalist lettering.

"What’s this?"

"Your limitless card, Carter. You’re currently holding the buying power of a small nation in your hand."

"No way..." I gasped. The card felt heavy, as if it contained the weight of the world.

"This is who you are now," she remarked.

We stepped into the boutique, and I froze. At the far end, in the high-end bridal and formal section, two familiar faces were standing amidst a sea of silk. Julian was critiquing a row of charcoal suits while Elara stood nearby, talking to an attendant who held a white lace wedding gown.

My blood turned to ice, then boiled. Of all the places in Kingston, they were here. I walked straight to the receptionist, ignoring her polite greeting.

"Those two over there," I said, tilting my head toward them. "I’m covering their entire bill."

Helen squinted at me, sensing the sudden shift in my aura. "What’s the matter?"

"Just a ghost from my past," I replied grimly.

Julian turned then, his eyes landing on me. A mocking, triumphant grin spread across his face. I was dressed casually in a polo and slacks, while he looked "dashing" in a tailored vest.

"Look who it is!" Julian called out, strolling over. "What are you doing in a place like this, Carter? Can't you see the price tags are higher than your annual salary? Or..." He squinted. "Do you work here now? Are you the new valet? Or maybe the driver for this lovely lady?" He pointed at Helen.

Helen’s eyes flashed with a lethal spark. She was about to tear him apart when I put a hand on her arm. I didn't say a word to Julian.

"Your boss is a little quiet today," Julian teased as Elara joined him.

"What's going on?" she asked. When she saw me, her face contorted. "Are you stalking me, Carter? This is pathetic. It’s creepy!"

"I guess the dumbass didn't want to miss our wedding shopping," Julian snarled. "You said something about my wedding, didn't you, punk? You want the invite so bad? Give me an address for that trailer you’re living in, and I’ll send one your way. I want you to see what you lost."

I smirked. Without a word, I took a pen and a slip of paper from the desk and scribbled down an address. Julian snatched it from me, his eyes scanning the paper with a sneer.

"It’ll be our wedding, but your funeral," he said with a ferocious glint. He grabbed Elara’s arm and walked back to the counter to settle up.

"That will be sixty-four thousand dollars, sir," the receptionist said.

Julian’s jaw dropped. "What? That’s outrageous!"

"Not to worry, sir. Your bill has already been covered in full," she said metallically. "We’ll have your items packaged immediately."

Julian was stunned. "By who?"

"I’m not authorized to disclose that, sir."

He glanced at Elara, who shrugged in confusion. When he looked back, I was gone. He looked down at the address I’d written. The Green Heights Estate.

His eyes widened. That was the most exclusive gated community in Kingston—home only to the ultra-wealthy.

"The bastard is playing games," Julian muttered. "He gave me a fake address because he’s a coward. A trailer-park king playing make-believe. Fine. I’ll send the invite anyway just to prove I can find him."

--- --- ---

"Carter, why did you let them talk to you like that?" Helen asked, frustrated as we walked back to the desk. "You’re the owner of the fucking building!"

"I do things my way, Helen. I’d rather they be comfortable before I take everything away." I handed my limitless card to the receptionist.

When she saw the name—Carter Van Alen—her jaw hung loosely. "No way!”

--- --- ---

The next morning, I was in the dining room of my mansion, still in my pajamas. My butler, Alfred—a man who took punctuality as a religion—marched in with a silver tray.

"An envelope was delivered to the gate, sir. Addressed to you," Alfred said, bowing.

I tore it open. Inside was a heavy, cream-colored card embossed with silver lilies. A wedding invitation. I stared at it for a long beat before a low, dark laugh escaped my throat.

"Thank you, Alfred. You’re dismissed."

I examined the card again, my thumb brushing over Elara and Julian’s names. "Well, well," I whispered. "Time to crash a wedding."