The Zillionaire's wrath

CHAPTER 9: The Reckoning Begins

The ballroom was a suffocating gathering of velvet, silk, and predatory intent steaming in the air.

If not for the low, redundant reminder of Steve’s voice in my ear—constant, grounding—I would have crumbled under the weight of a thousand judging eyes. I stepped into the light, my stride calculated, my chin held at an angle of practiced arrogance.

Immediately, the room went silent. Every guest, every mogul, every socialite turned to stare. I recognized the Senator instantly—a man in his fifties with the sculpted physique of an athlete and a smile so practiced it felt synthetic.

He moved toward me, his hand outstretched, oozing the false warmth of a seasoned politician.

"Can you read that smile?" Steve whispered in my ear slowly.

"It’s as hollow as a drum," I replied, my voice steady.

The Senator reached us with a grin. "I am honored to have you in my humble abode, Mr. Henry Rowland," he boomed. "The Rowland Dynasty has kept its CEO in the shadows for far too long. Look at the excitement; they’re all dying to meet you."

I offered a curt, cold nod. "It’s a pleasure, Senator."

The Senator’s gaze flickered with a mix of confusion and irritation at my brevity. He glanced from side to side, his eyes widening. "Oh dear! I must have made a mistake in the invitation. You don't have a date for the evening?"

I looked at Steve, confused. "I wasn't aware a companion was required."

"A minor oversight on my part," the Senator laughed, slapping his forehead. His face lit up with a sly, knowing grin. "I have a situation on my hands. Mrs. Gladis is currently without a partner, and you are here, unaccompanied. It’s fate, wouldn't you say?"

Steve stiffened behind me, but I was already intrigued. The woman who had caught my eye earlier, Mrs. Gladis, was approaching, two glasses of champagne in her gloved hands.

"You’re a man who draws the eye, Mr. Rowland," she said, her voice a silk thread of invitation. She handed me a glass. "I’m honored to accept your invitation for the evening."

I took a sip, the champagne biting at my tongue. "You seem to be enjoying the spectacle," I noted, my eyes cold.

"I am," she replied, leaning in close enough that her perfume—expensive, musky, and floral—filled my senses. "But the room is too loud. Would you like to escape?"

"Escape to where?"

"The guest balcony. It’s empty. We could look at the stars and leave all this noise behind."

It was a trap—I knew it, and Steve’s body language screamed a warning—but I was playing a game of my own and so, I nodded. 

We slipped out of the ballroom, the muffled roar of the party fading as we climbed the stairs and stepped onto the balcony. The night air was crisp, and the scent of her perfume intensified. She moved closer, her hip pressing against mine, her eyes burning with a desperate, seductive fire. 

She pressed her breasts against my chest, her lips parting as she leaned in.

But as our faces neared, an image flashed through my mind—a cold, grounding vision that killed the lust instantly. I stepped back, pushing her away with a subtle, firm hand.

She gasped, her face flushing with shock. "What’s the matter?"

"Enjoy the rest of your night, Mrs. Gladis," I said, my voice ice-cold. I turned on my heel and walked out, my heart hammering. I couldn't explain the vision, but it had saved me from a distraction I didn't need.

I marched back toward the ballroom, my mind clearing, when I turned a corner and collided with someone. A glass shattered, splashing expensive wine across my charcoal suit. "Watch where you're—"

I froze. The person standing in front of me wasn't just any random guest; it was the past.

"Samantha?"

She stared at me, her face draining of color until she looked like a corpse. "Henry? What the hell is a low-life like you doing here?" She looked at the stain on my suit, a sneer twisting her features. "You’re always so unfortunate, Henry. Who let an idiot like you in here?"

"You always find a way to be a loser, buddy," a voice barked. William 

Blackwood—stepped up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

They leaned in to kiss, a display of performative cruelty meant to break me. But then, the world shifted. William’s face went white. He froze, his arm dropping from Samantha’s waist, and he bowed so low his head nearly hit his knees.

"Good evening, sir!" William stammered, his voice trembling.

I glanced to my side. Steve was standing there, his presence radiating an aura of absolute command.

"Mr. Blackwood," Steve acknowledged, his tone indifferent. He looked at me, seeing the murder in my eyes. "Is something the matter, Henry?"

William’s jaw dropped. He looked from Steve to me, his eyes bulging as the realization hit him.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, my voice was calm and unbothered. "What is he doing here, Steve?"

"He is the company's New York branch representative," Steve replied smoothly. "The manager is away, and Mr. Blackwood was sent to fill in. He doesn't seem to know who he’s talking to."

Steve turned his cold gaze on William. "Meet your new boss, Mr. Blackwood. The CEO of the Rowland Dynasty, Mr. Henry Rowland."

Samantha looked like she’d seen a ghost and that enough sparked a flood of euphoria in my chest. William, on the other hand, looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. I looked at them—the girl who had used me and the man who had discarded me like garbage—and I simply chuckled.

"Well, Mr. Blackwood," I said, a grin spreading across my face. "It seems we have a lot to talk about."

This was the end of their world. Every person who had ever treated me as less than human was about to learn exactly what happens when the "trash" inherits the kingdom. The reckoning had only just begun.