The Hidden Tycoon: My Ex-Husband Is a Billionaire

Chapter 8

Patricia remained on her knees, her whole body trembling violently. Cold sweat poured down her face, soaking through the collar of her pristine white blouse. Her carefully maintained composure had shattered completely, leaving behind only raw terror.

"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Miss Sterling, Mr. Pierce, please forgive me. I didn't know. I swear on everything I didn't know who you were. I made a terrible mistake. Please, I'm begging you—"

"Silence." Victor's voice cut through her pleading like a knife. He hadn't moved from his position near the entrance, but his presence dominated the entire lobby. The fury in his eyes had crystallized into something colder, more terrible. "You claim to know every member of the Sterling family personally, Patricia. You've worked at this hotel for twelve years. And yet you couldn't recognize my own granddaughter?"

"She's been abroad, sir! She's been studying overseas since she was young. I've only seen photographs, and they were from years ago—"

"Enough excuses." Victor's hand rose, silencing her instantly. "But your ignorance about Sophia is not your greatest offense today."

Patricia's face somehow managed to pale further. "Sir?"

Victor's eyes shifted to Dylan, and his expression transformed—the cold fury melting into something like reverence. "This man is the most important guest our family has ever had the honor to host. And you ordered security to lay hands on him. You threatened to have him arrested. You humiliated him in front of a crowd." His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "You made his daughter cry."

The lobby was so quiet that Emma's sniffling seemed loud in the silence. Dylan had lifted her into his arms, and she buried her face against his shoulder.

"You're fired, Patricia," Victor said flatly. "Effective immediately. Security will escort you from the premises once we've left. You have one hour to collect your personal belongings."

"No!" Patricia's cry was desperate. "Please, Mr. Sterling, please! This job is my life. I've dedicated everything to this hotel. I have a family, a mortgage, responsibilities—"

"You should have thought of that before you abused your authority," Sophia said coldly, speaking for the first time since her grandfather's arrival. "Before you decided to publicly humiliate people based on their appearance rather than verifying the facts."

Victor turned his back on Patricia's sobbing form, his attention shifting fully to Dylan. When he spoke again, his voice had warmed considerably. "Young Master, I apologize profusely for this disgraceful treatment. Please, allow me to escort you personally to the Supreme Banquet Hall. It's the least I can do to make amends for this catastrophic failure of hospitality."

The crowd that had gathered gasped collectively. The Supreme Banquet Hall? That legendary space was reserved for only the most elite gatherings—heads of state, billionaire CEOs, royalty. Even most wealthy businesspeople never got to see inside it.

"Who is that man?" someone whispered urgently.

"I don't know, but Victor Sterling himself is bowing to him!"

"The Supreme Banquet Hall... my God, what kind of person must he be?"

Dylan's expression remained neutral. "Victor, that's not necessary—"

"I insist, Young Master. Please." Victor gestured toward the elevators with a sweep of his arm. "The banquet has been prepared specifically for you. Everything is ready."

The Sterling family members parted like water, creating a clear path from where Dylan stood to the private elevator bank at the far end of the lobby. Several stepped forward to form an honor guard, their postures respectful and formal.

Dylan glanced at the still-sobbing Patricia, then at the shocked faces of the crowd, and finally at Emma in his arms. His daughter had stopped crying, but her eyes were still red and puffy.

"Alright," Dylan said quietly. "Let's go."

The procession moved through the lobby with ceremonial precision. Victor walked slightly behind and to the right of Dylan—a position of respect, as if Dylan were the patriarch and Victor the subordinate. Sophia moved on Dylan's other side, her earlier shy demeanor completely abandoned in favor of quiet dignity.

As they passed, people pulled out their phones frantically, recording everything. The security guards who had attempted to remove Dylan stood frozen, their faces ashen with the realization of what they'd almost done. Patricia remained on the floor, her career destroyed, watching the man she'd tried to throw out being treated like royalty.

The private elevator doors opened silently. The interior was lavish—all polished wood and brass, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Victor gestured for Dylan to enter first, then followed with Sophia and Emma. Several senior Sterling family members joined them, while the rest dispersed to take other elevators or the stairs.

As the doors closed, cutting them off from the chaotic lobby, Victor finally allowed himself to sag slightly against the wall. His fury had drained away, leaving behind exhaustion and shame.

"Young Master, I cannot express how deeply sorry I am," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "That you should be treated so poorly in a hotel owned by my family... it's unforgivable. I take full responsibility."

Dylan shifted Emma in his arms, his expression softening. "Victor, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known this would happen."

"I should have anticipated it. I should have called ahead, warned the staff, ensured—"

"Victor." Dylan's tone was firm but kind. "The blame lies with Rachel. She was here, in this hotel, and deliberately caused trouble when she saw me. She's the one who set this whole situation in motion."

Victor's eyes widened slightly. "Rachel Bennett is here? Your ex-wife?"

"She's supposed to be signing a contract with your company today, isn't she?"

The words hit Victor like a physical blow. His face went pale, then red, then pale again. "The contract. Oh God, the contract. I never called to cancel it!" He fumbled for his phone with trembling hands. "I got distracted organizing everyone for your welcome, and I completely forgot to stop the signing!"

The elevator reached the top floor, and the doors opened onto a private vestibule decorated with artwork that belonged in museums. But Victor didn't move, frantically scrolling through his contacts.

"Richard!" he barked into his phone. "Get me the number for Michael Hayes immediately. He's heading the Bennett contract signing. Yes, I know he's on his way there now—that's the problem! Get me his direct line. Now!"

There was a pause as Victor waited, his foot tapping impatiently against the marble floor. The other Sterling family members exchanged concerned glances but said nothing.

"Got it. Thank you." Victor's fingers flew across his phone screen, pulling up a new contact. He pressed dial, and the phone began to ring.

In the Emerald Banquet Hall—three floors below and several corridors away from the Supreme Banquet Hall—Rachel stood near the center of the room, a champagne flute in one hand and a brilliant smile on her face. The space was elegant, certainly, with its green and gold color scheme and crystal fixtures. But it was still just an ordinary banquet hall, nothing special by the Grand Meridian's standards.

The room was filled with perhaps fifty people—business associates, investors, local media representatives, and various hangers-on hoping to benefit from Rachel's upcoming success. They milled about, networking and congratulating Rachel on her partnership with the legendary Sterling family.

Tyler stood close to Rachel's side, his hand possessively on the small of her back. He was holding court with a small group of admirers, regaling them with stories of how he'd personally facilitated the introduction between Rachel and the Sterlings.

"It's all about connections," Tyler was saying, his chest puffed out. "The Sterling family doesn't partner with just anyone. It takes someone with real influence, real power, to open those doors. Rachel's brilliant, of course, but even brilliance needs a key to unlock certain opportunities."

A middle-aged man in an impeccable gray suit approached, a warm smile on his pleasant face. He was in his late forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and the bearing of someone comfortable with authority. This was Michael Hayes, senior contract manager for Sterling Industries.

"Ms. Bennett!" Michael extended his hand, which Rachel shook eagerly. "Congratulations on this partnership. The Sterling family is very impressed with your company's potential."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Chen," Rachel gushed, her practiced business smile firmly in place. "I'm honored that the Sterling family sees value in what we're building. This partnership will be transformative for both our companies."

Michael's smile remained pleasant, though something flickered in his eyes—a hint of confusion or perhaps curiosity. "Indeed. You have a very good partner, Ms. Bennett. Your husband must be quite skilled at building these kinds of relationships."

Rachel's smile froze. The champagne flute trembled slightly in her hand. "My... my husband?"

"Yes." Michael looked around the room expectantly. "I was hoping to meet him today. The Sterling family typically likes to know all the key players in any partnership. Where is Mr. Bennett?"

Tyler's hand tightened on Rachel's back. Several nearby guests had fallen silent, sensing drama.

Rachel's face flushed with embarrassment, but she forced a laugh that came out brittle and strained. "Oh, Mr. Chen, I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. My husband is... well, he's extremely ordinary. A very private person, not suited for occasions like this." She gestured around the elegant room. "He wouldn't know how to conduct himself in such refined company. That's why Tyler accompanied me today instead."

She placed her hand over Tyler's where it rested on her back. "Tyler  Richmond has been instrumental in facilitating this partnership. It's his family connections and business acumen that opened the door to the Sterling family. My husband had nothing to do with it—he's just a househusband, really. Takes care of our daughter while I build the business."

Michael's pleasant expression faltered slightly. His eyes moved to Tyler with renewed interest—and something else. Recognition? Confusion? His brow furrowed as he studied the portly man's face.

"Mr.  Richmond," Michael said slowly. "Have we met before?"

Tyler puffed up even further, clearly delighted to be recognized. "I don't believe so, Mr. Chen, though I've heard wonderful things about you. My family—the  Richmonds of  Richmond Industries—has done business in this city for over thirty years. We have... extensive connections."

Michael's frown deepened. " Richmond Industries... yes, I'm familiar with your company. Mid-tier manufacturing, correct? Annual revenue around $50 million?"

Tyler's smile tightened slightly at the dismissive "mid-tier" description, but he maintained his jovial tone. "That's right! We're a solid, established business. I used those connections to help Rachel here get her foot in the door with the Sterling family."

Michael's confusion was growing more evident. He opened his mouth to respond—something in his expression suggesting he was about to contradict Tyler's claim—when his phone rang loudly in his pocket.

"Excuse me," Michael said, already pulling out the device. He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor changed instantly. The pleasant, professional smile vanished. His face went pale, then rigid with tension.

"I need to take this," he said abruptly, already turning away. "Please excuse me."

Rachel and Tyler exchanged puzzled glances as Michael practically ran toward the exit, his phone pressed to his ear. Around them, the party continued, but several guests had noticed the contract manager's sudden departure and were whispering among themselves.