Chapter 2 - The Penthouse
The sleek black town car glided seamlessly through the dark, rain-slicked streets of the city.
My driver, Thomas, kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror with profound concern etched on his face.
"Ma'am, should we stop at the emergency room? Your head is bleeding," he asked respectfully.
"No, Thomas, just take me home," I replied, wiping the dried blood away with a silk handkerchief.
We pulled up to the grand entrance of the Grand Plaza, a billionaire's haven that I had owned for twenty years.
The concierge practically bowed as I walked through the golden revolving doors, completely ignoring my stained clothing.
I stepped into the private glass elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.
When the doors opened, I was greeted by three thousand square feet of breathtaking, panoramic city views.
The penthouse was impeccably clean, decorated in rich velvet, dark mahogany, and priceless modern art.
I walked straight to the master bathroom and turned on the gold-plated faucets, letting the hot water steam up the room.
I stripped off the hideous, gravy-stained cardigan that Claire had constantly mocked.
As I washed the blood from my silver hair, I watched the fragile old woman wash down the drain.
I stepped out, wrapping myself in a plush, heated robe, and poured a glass of vintage scotch.
My phone buzzed on the marble counter, displaying a text message from David.
"Don't bother crawling back tomorrow. Claire says you can sleep at a homeless shelter for all we care," the message read.
I took a slow, deliberate sip of the expensive liquor, feeling a dark, vengeful fire ignite in my chest.
I did not reply to his cruel, heartless message.
Instead, I opened my banking application and permanently severed the financial lifeline that kept his fake life afloat.
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They wanted to experience life without my presence.
They were about to experience life without my money.
