Chapter 3 - THE BLACK ACCESS CARD
Eleanor refused to accept what was happening.
People like Eleanor never believed consequences applied to them until those consequences had their names written across the front.
She pointed toward me.
“This changes nothing about the way Vivienne deceived our family.”
I almost laughed.
“My deception?”
“You let us believe you were poor.”
“I never told you I was poor.”
“You dressed like you were.”
A woman at a nearby table lowered her wineglass in disbelief.
My father looked almost amused.
Eleanor continued.
“You drove an ordinary car.”
“I liked my car.”
“You never talked about your family.”
“Because every time I spoke at dinner, Chloe interrupted me.”
Several guests suddenly found the tablecloths fascinating.
Chloe crossed her arms.
“You deliberately hid who you were.”
I looked at her.
“You never asked.”
She opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
That was the ugly truth.
They had never been curious about me.
They had only been confident about their assumptions.
Daniel bent down and picked up the black access card that had fallen from my purse.
He handed it to my father.
Eleanor noticed.
“What is that?”
My father passed it to me.
I slipped it into Daniel’s jacket pocket.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Chloe snapped,
“It clearly belongs to the hotel.”
Daniel answered before I could.
“It does.”
Dominic looked at me.
“What does it open?”
I studied the man I had slept beside for almost four years.
He knew how I took my coffee.
He knew I hated thunderstorms.
He knew I read crime novels when I could not sleep.
Yet he had never once asked why hotel managers in several cities knew me by name.
“All Vale properties.”
His face changed.
“All of them?”
Daniel nodded.
“Executive family access.”
A guest near the aisle whispered,
“That card is only issued to ownership.”
Dominic sat down slowly.
Chloe stared at me.
“You own this hotel?”
“My family does.”
My father corrected me.
“You do.”
I turned toward him.
“Dad.”
“You own thirty-two percent of Vale Hospitality through your trust.”
A visible reaction moved through the ballroom.
My father continued as if he were discussing the weather.
“This building is part of that portfolio.”
Eleanor looked as though she had stopped understanding English.
“You’re telling me she owns this place?”
“Part of it.”
My father glanced around the ballroom.
“Approximately one-third.”
I wished he had stopped there.
He did not.
“The ballroom renovation was also Vivienne’s project.”
Chloe looked at the chandeliers.
The flower installations.
The hand-carved wall panels.
The imported marble.
Her dream wedding venue.
For twelve months, she had bragged that she had secured the most exclusive ballroom in the city because of her connections.
She had insulted me repeatedly during planning because I refused to help pay for upgrades she believed I could not afford.
She had no idea I had personally approved the architectural redesign two years earlier.
“You designed this?”
Her voice sounded small.
“I worked with the design team.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“This is some ridiculous performance.”
My father took out his phone.
“Would you prefer documentation?”
She said nothing.
Dominic looked at me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
That question hurt more than I expected.
Because it revealed how little he understood.
“I tried.”
He frowned.
“When?”
“Do you remember our second date?”
He stared at me.
“You asked what my father did.”
I remembered his answer before he did.
I had told Dominic my father owned hotels and invested in real estate.
Dominic had smiled and said,
“So he’s a landlord?”
I had smiled back.
“Yes, something like that.”
He had never asked another question.
I reminded him.
His face went pale.
“My father owns hotels.”
I looked around the ballroom.
“I never lied.”
My father took a slow breath.
“Vivienne chose to build her own career before accessing most of her trust.”
Chloe whispered,
“How much?”
My father ignored her.
But Eleanor did not.
“How much is she worth?”
My father finally looked at her.
“Enough that your daughter calling her dead weight has become unexpectedly humorous.”
A few guests laughed.
Eleanor turned red.
Dominic stepped closer to me.
“Vivienne, can we talk privately?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
His eyes filled with panic.
“This is our marriage.”
I placed one hand over my stomach.
“No, Dominic.”
I looked directly at him.
May you like
“This was our marriage.”
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