Chapter 4 - Foreclosure of Illusions
The sun rose over the city like a cold, unforgiving blade.
Dorian had not slept a single minute.
He sat on the leather sofa in the living room of his gated suburban mansion, his tuxedo crumpled and his bow tie hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar.
Empty glasses of bourbon littered the coffee table.
Vivian paced back and forth across the hardwood floor, speaking frantically into her phone.
"Father, please!" Vivian pleaded into the receiver, her voice shrill with mounting terror.
"You can't just cut me off!"
"Dorian is going to fix this!"
"He's the CEO!"
She paused, listening to her father’s response.
Whatever Julian Lacroix said on the other end made Vivian pull the phone away from her ear as if it had burned her.
A harsh dial tone buzzed from the speaker.
Vivian dropped the phone onto the rug and buried her face in her hands.
"He locked my accounts," she sobbed, sinking into an armchair.
"My father locked my trust fund."
"He said the Valenti syndicates called in thirty million dollars of our port notes at midnight."
"He said if I don't leave you immediately, he will disown me permanently."
Dorian slowly raised his bloodshot eyes to look at her.
The woman who had appeared so glamorous and untouchable the night before now looked completely broken.
Her mascara had run down her cheeks in messy black streaks.
Her expensive dress was wrinkled, and the arrogant smirk she always wore had vanished.
"You told me you were doing this for me," Dorian whispered, his voice hoarse from alcohol and despair.
Vivian snapped her head toward him, her tearful expression twisting into sudden hatred.
"For you?" she shrieked.
"I slept with you because you were supposed to control the northern shipping docks!"
"I thought you were a rising titan!"
"I thought you had the power to make me the most influential woman in high society!"
"I didn't know you were just a pathetic puppet living on your wife's charity!"
"Shut up!" Dorian roared, slamming his fist onto the coffee table.
The glass shook violently, and two empty glasses tipped over, shattering on the wood.
"You came to me!" Dorian screamed, standing up with his fists clenched.
"You were the one who whispered in my ear every night that Serafina was holding me back!"
"You told me a man of my caliber needed a real woman beside him!"
"I threw away seven years of my life because of your poison!"
"You threw it away because you were stupid and vain!" Vivian shouted right back, standing her ground.
"You wanted to believe you were a god!"
"You wanted to strut into ballrooms with me on your arm because your quiet little wife made you feel inadequate!"
Before Dorian could reply, the heavy front doorbell chimed three times.
The sound was calm, deliberate, and authoritative.
Dorian’s heart skipped a beat.
"It's Serafina," Dorian murmured, his expression shifting from rage to desperate hope.
"She's come back."
"She just wanted to teach me a lesson."
"She loves me."
"Seven years... you don't just erase seven years overnight."
He stumbled toward the foyer, smoothing his hair with shaking hands.
Vivian followed closely behind him, her eyes wide with apprehension.
Dorian reached the front door and pulled it open with breathless anticipation.
"Serafina, I—"
His words died in his throat.
It was not Serafina.
Marcus Vance stood on the front porch, flanked by two municipal marshals in tactical uniforms and a woman holding a leather briefcase.
Behind them, parked along the curb, were three large commercial moving trucks.
"Good morning, Mister Castellane," Marcus said, his tone as pleasant and lethal as a drawn dagger.
"What... what is this?" Dorian stammered, gripping the doorframe for support.
"This is an eviction notice," the woman with the briefcase said, stepping forward.
She handed Dorian a thick legal packet bearing the golden seal of the State Supreme Court.
"Under the emergency provisions of the Valenti Residential Trust, this property has been reclaimed due to default on the underlying land lease."
"What underlying lease?" Dorian yelled, his voice rising in panic.
"I bought this house!"
"I paid four million dollars for this mansion five years ago!"
"You paid four million dollars for the structure, Mister Castellane," the attorney corrected calmly.
"The land beneath it has belonged to the Valenti family since nineteen twenty-two."
"Under Section Four of your deed, if the land lease expires without renewal, the structure automatically reverts to the ground owner."
"And Lady Serafina declined to renew your lease thirty minutes ago."
Marcus Vance stepped forward, gesturing to the moving trucks behind him.
"The moving crew will enter now to catalogue the personal belongings of Lady Serafina," Marcus said.
"Her art collection, her jewelry, and her furniture will be removed."
"You and your companion have exactly forty-five minutes to gather your personal clothing."
"Everything else remains property of the estate."
"You can't do this!" Vivian screamed, pushing past Dorian to confront the marshals.
"Do you know who my father is?"
"I am Vivian Lacroix!"
One of the marshals placed a heavy, gloved hand on the holster of his sidearm.
"Ma'am, you have forty-four minutes to vacate the premises," the officer said without emotion.
"If you obstruct our lawful execution of this writ, you will be placed in custody immediately."
Vivian gasped, pulling back as if she had been burned.
Dorian stood frozen in the doorway as a dozen movers in black uniforms marched past him into the house.
They moved with military efficiency, tagging paintings, packing silver, and wrapping antique vases.
Dorian watched them take down the portraits in the hallway.
He watched them dismantle the life he had spent seven years taking for granted.
He saw a mover carry out the crystal vase Serafina had placed fresh lilies in every single Monday morning.
He saw another carry out the leather-bound guest books from the dinner parties he had hosted to impress his clients.
"Marcus," Dorian begged, grabbing the sleeve of the older enforcer's dark coat.
"Please."
"Just let me talk to her."
"Let me speak to Serafina for five minutes."
"I'll apologize on my knees."
"I'll give up the company."
"I'll do whatever she wants."
Marcus Vance slowly looked down at Dorian’s hand on his sleeve.
The look was so intensely lethal that Dorian let go instantly, pulling his hand back as if from an open flame.
"Lady Serafina gave you seven years of her devotion, Castellane," Marcus whispered, leaning in close.
"She cooked your meals."
"She bandaged your pride when your deals fell through."
"She stayed in the shadows so you could feel like a giant."
"And the very first day you believed you were powerful enough to stand on your own feet, you stepped on her neck."
Marcus straightened his lapels, looking down at Dorian with complete disgust.
"She does not wish to speak with you."
"She does not wish to see you."
"And if you attempt to approach her vehicle, her office, or her private residence..."
Marcus leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a terrifying hush.
"You will not need an eviction notice, Dorian."
May you like
"You will need an undertaker."
***
