Chapter 3 - THE CUFFS OF REALITY
Julian raised his hands defensively, his dark hair damp with cold sweat as panic clawed at his throat.
"There's been a massive misunderstanding here, officer," Julian stammered, forcing a thin, unconvincing smile onto his face.
"Shut your mouth, Vance," the commander snapped, shoving Julian hard against the ornate gold-leafed wall of the ballroom.
Cold steel cuffs clamped onto Julian's wrists with a sharp, metallic snap that echoed like a gunshot through the room.
The elite gala guests whispered frantically among themselves, their expensive champagne flutes clinking nervously on silver trays.
Elena stood up slowly, her movements deliberate and poised as she adjusted the white blanket around her sleeping child.
A faint cut on her left cheek stood out sharply against her pale skin, a silent testimony to the violence she had just endured.
"Take him away," Elena commanded softly, her voice carrying an uncanny, icy authority that froze everyone in place.
Julian glared at his wife with venomous hatred, his eyes bulging in sheer disbelief as the marshals dragged him backward.
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"You won't get away with this, Elena! They'll strip everything from you!" Julian roared, kicking futilely against the marble floor.
Victoria collapsed onto a velvet settee, burying her face in her manicured hands as her multi-billion-dollar empire crumbled.
