Chapter 6 - A Taste of the Gutter
Three months passed. Autumn turned into a bitter, biting winter.
Adrian’s federal fraud trial was looming, and a court-appointed public defender was his only shield. To afford basic meals, the former billionaire CEO had been reduced to working under the table at a greasy diner—one of the only places that didn't run a background check that would flag his high-profile disgrace.
One rainy Tuesday, I decided it was time to finalize the past.
My chauffeur pulled my Rolls Royce Phantom up to the curb across from the diner. Through the tinted, bulletproof glass, I watched Adrian. He was taking out the trash. He looked a decade older. His tailored suits were replaced by a stained apron; his perfect hair was overgrown and greasy; his arrogant posture was hunched against the freezing rain.
He looked up and saw the car. He recognized the Sterling crest on the license plate.
Dropping the garbage bags, he ran across the street, slipping in a puddle and falling hard to his knees by my window. He slammed his hands against the glass.
I pressed the button, rolling the window down just two inches.
"Elara!" he sobbed, the rain mixing with his tears. "Please! I’m begging you! I have nothing. I eat scraps! I sleep in a shelter! I'm sorry, I was out of my mind! Forgive me, please!"
I looked at him, remembering the searing pain of the riding crop, the mocking laughter, the way he looked at me like I was dirt beneath his expensive shoes.
"Do you remember what you told me, Adrian, as I bled on your floor?" I asked, my voice calm, smooth, and utterly devoid of mercy.
He whimpered, shaking his head.
"You told me you were done carrying dead weight," I quoted softly. "I agree with you."
May you like
I rolled the window up, severing his desperate wails, and tapped on the glass partition. "Drive, Thomas."
As the car pulled away, I didn't look back. Adrian Vale was a ghost, and I was finally awake.
