Chapter 3 - The Night of the Crimson Queen
The Grand Pinnacle Gala was the event of the season,
a gathering of the world's most powerful,
wealthy,
and dangerous individuals.
The ballroom of the St. Regis was a sea of gold leaf,
crystal chandeliers,
and the smell of old money and new secrets.
Spencer Albright arrived in a tuxedo that felt like a straitjacket,
his face covered in a layer of foundation to hide the paleness of his skin.
Beside him,
Cassandra clung to his arm,
her dress too tight and her smile too desperate.
They were pariahs,
though the room didn't know it yet.
Whispers followed them like a trail of ants.
"Did you hear about the Albright freeze?"
"I heard they're bankrupt by morning."
"Look at him,
he looks like he’s going to vomit."
Spencer tried to keep his head high,
searching the room for Gwen.
He expected to see her in her usual modest dress,
looking like the mouse he had spent six years belittling.
He wanted to corner her,
to beg,
to use Hazel as a bargaining chip one last time.
But the music suddenly stopped.
The massive oak doors at the top of the grand staircase swung open.
The announcer’s voice boomed through the hall,
silencing the three hundred guests.
"Presenting Ms. Gwenyth Crawford,"
"accompanied by her father,
Mr. Arthur Crawford."
The gasp that went through the room was collective.
Gwen stepped into the light,
and she was unrecognizable.
She wore a gown of deep,
blood-red silk that trailed behind her like a royal robe.
Around her neck was the Crawford Heart,
a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg that was worth more than the Albright mansion.
Her hair was swept back in a sophisticated coil,
revealing eyes that were sharp,
clear,
and deadly.
Beside her stood Arthur Crawford,
the titan of industry,
his presence alone commanding the air in the room.
He didn't look like an old man;
he looked like a mountain that had decided to move.
They descended the stairs with a grace that made every other woman in the room feel common.
Spencer moved toward them,
his hands outstretched like a beggar.
"Gwen!
Gwen,
please!"
"It was a misunderstanding!"
"I didn't know!
I love you!"
Arthur Crawford stepped in front of his daughter,
his hand resting on the lapel of his suit.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at the man who had hurt his child.
"You,"
Arthur said,
the word vibrating through Spencer’s chest.
"You are the boy who thought he could steal from a Crawford."
"You are the boy who allowed his mistress to strike my granddaughter."
"I should have you erased from the map."
"But my daughter has a more... creative punishment in mind."
Gwen stepped around her father,
standing inches away from Spencer.
She looked at Cassandra,
who was trembling so hard her heels were clicking on the floor.
"The dress looks lovely,
Cassandra,"
Gwen said,
her voice like velvet-wrapped steel.
"It’s a shame it’s the last thing you'll ever own."
"I've bought the boutique you purchased it from."
"And I’ve reported the card you used as stolen."
"Security will be here in five minutes to escort you both out."
"But before that,"
Gwen turned to the crowd,
raising her glass of vintage champagne.
"A toast!"
she announced,
her voice carrying to every corner of the ballroom.
"To the Albrights!"
"A family built on lies,"
"sustained by fraud,"
"and destroyed by their own cruelty."
"May their fall be as public as their pride."
On the giant screens surrounding the ballroom,
the Albright financial records began to scroll.
Emails between Spencer and offshore bankers,
photos of Cassandra’s secret spending,
and a video...
The room went silent as the video played.
It was the security footage from the living room that afternoon.
The slap.
The teeth hitting the floor.
The laughter of Spencer Albright.
The socialites of Bel Air gasped in horror.
Patricia Albright,
standing near the buffet,
fainted dead away.
Spencer looked around,
seeing the disgust on the faces of his peers,
the people he had spent years trying to impress.
May you like
He was a monster in a tuxedo.
And the Queen of the night was just getting started.
