Chapter 3 - The Phoenix Rises
The black limousine pulled into the driveway exactly nineteen minutes later,
its tinted windows reflecting the modest suburban homes of Cedar Ridge.
The driver,
a man I remembered from my childhood named Arthur,
stepped out and bowed deeply as I walked down the front steps.
I was still wearing my diner uniform,
the faint scent of onions still clinging to my skin,
but my posture was that of a queen.
“Your wardrobe is already at the hotel suite,
Ms. Vane,”
Arthur said,
holding the door open with gloved hands.
“We’ve also arranged for a team of stylists and a makeup artist.”
“They have forty-five minutes,”
I said,
checking the time on the old kitchen clock I had brought with me.
“I want to arrive at the gala exactly ten minutes after the promotion is announced.”
The ride to the city was a blur of lights and quiet determination.
I looked out the window at the world I had tried so hard to be a part of,
the world of middle-class dreams and simple joys,
and I realized it was never meant for me.
Not because I was too good for it,
but because I had married a man who used it as a stepping stone instead of a foundation.
When we arrived at the penthouse suite of the Grand Marriott,
the doors flew open to reveal a bustling hive of activity.
Racks of designer gowns lined the walls,
each one worth more than the house I had just left.
I walked past the diamonds,
the silks,
and the furs,
my eyes landing on a dress that was the exact opposite of the one Ethan had burned.
It was a deep,
blood-red silk gown,
with a neckline that commanded respect and a train that looked like a river of fire.
“That one,”
I pointed,
my voice steady and cold.
The stylists worked with a frantic efficiency,
scrubbing the "waitress" off my skin and replacing it with the glow of old money.
They painted my lips the color of a warning sign and styled my hair into a sharp,
sophisticated bob that framed my face like a weapon.
When I finally looked in the mirror,
Ava Miller was gone.
The woman who had begged for her husband's love was dead,
her ashes currently cooling in a backyard grill in Virginia.
In her place stood Ava Sterling-Vane,
a woman whose family name was engraved on the very foundation of the building where the gala was being held.
I put on a pair of diamond earrings that had belonged to my grandmother,
each stone the size of a grape,
and felt their weight anchor me to my heritage.
“Ms. Vane,”
Marcus,
my lawyer,
said as he entered the room,
holding a leather portfolio.
“The papers are ready.”
“As of ten minutes ago,
Ethan Cole’s employment contract has been flagged for internal review.”
“And the 'promotion' he thinks he’s getting?”
I asked,
applying a final layer of perfume that smelled of jasmine and power.
Marcus smiled,
a predatory look that mirrored my own.
“The board is currently under the impression that he is the one who secured the Vane merger.”
“They don’t know that you are the Vane in the merger.”
“When you walk into that room,
he won’t just be losing his job,”
Marcus continued,
“he’ll be losing his entire identity.”
“Good,”
I said,
picking up my clutch and heading for the door.
May you like
“I want him to feel exactly what I felt when I smelled that smoke.”
“The feeling of everything you worked for turning into nothing but air.”
