Chapter 8 - The Gala of Humiliation
The grand ballroom of the Grand Imperial Hotel was a glittering sea of crystal chandeliers, imported white orchids, and two hundred of the city’s wealthiest and most influential elite.
Politicians, high-court judges, real estate moguls, and aristocratic socialites mingled over vintage champagne while a forty-piece chamber orchestra played classical waltzes from the elevated stage.
At the center of the room sat the grand VIP table, elevated on a raised platform beneath a massive floral arch.
Seated in the central throne-like velvet chair was Beatrice Shiao. She was dressed in an ostentatious emerald-green satin gown, dripping in layers of diamonds and pearls, holding court like an ancient empress. Surrounding her were several prominent society matrons, including Lady Harrington and Duchess DuPont, who were laughing politely at Beatrice’s boastful stories.
“Oh, yes,” Beatrice declared loudly, waving a champagne flute with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “My son Shiaoza has worked himself to the bone this year expanding our conglomerate across the globe. He simply carries the entire weight of the family empire on his broad shoulders.”
Lady Harrington smiled thinly, sipping her champagne. “And what of his wife, Elena? We rarely see her at the domestic charity galas, Beatrice. Is she still managing the foreign subsidiaries?”
Beatrice let out a sharp, condescending sniff. “Elena is a quiet girl from a decent background, but she lacks the true aristocratic pedigree required for public leadership. Shiaoza keeps her occupied with administrative duties in Europe so she doesn't get in the way of real corporate strategy. But she knows her place. Tonight, she is flying in specifically to present me with the rarest timepiece in the world—a custom white Patek Philippe. Only ten exist worldwide, and my son made sure one was procured exclusively for my milestone.”
Duchess DuPont raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “A limited-edition Patek? My husband tried to secure one through his contacts in Geneva and was told the waiting list was impossible. That is quite a tribute, Beatrice.”
“Naturally,” Beatrice beamed, puffing out her chest with unbearable vanity. “When you raise a son of Shiaoza’s caliber, nothing less than perfection is acceptable.”
Nearby, standing near the champagne fountain, Shiaoza stood in his tailored tuxedo, his hands trembling so violently that the liquid in his glass was constantly rippling.
His face was coated in a layer of sweat that his repeated dabbing with a silk handkerchief could not conceal. He kept glancing nervously at the grand double doors of the ballroom, every second feeling like a step closer to his own public execution.
Suddenly, the chamber orchestra ceased playing mid-measure.
The massive gilded doors of the ballroom swung wide open.
The hotel’s chief concierge stepped forward, his voice booming through the state-of-the-art acoustic sound system, silencing all two hundred conversations in an instant:
“Announcing the arrival of the Executive Chairwoman and Chief Executive Officer of Vane-Shiao Global Holdings... Madame Elena Vane!”
A collective hush swept over the ballroom.
I stepped through the gilded archway.
The midnight-blue Elie Saab gown flowed around me like liquid starlight. The three-million-dollar sapphire choker sparkled brilliantly beneath the crystal chandeliers, radiating an aura of ancient, untouchable authority. My posture was regal, my chin held high, my eyes sweeping across the room with the commanding presence of an absolute monarch surveying her domain.
Behind me marched four private security officers in immaculate black suits, their faces stone-cold, flanking me with military precision.
The society matrons gasped audibly.
“Good heavens...” Lady Harrington murmured, lowering her champagne flute in pure shock. “Is that Elena? She looks... magnificent.”
Beatrice Shiao froze in her velvet throne, her smug smile instantly hardening into an expression of bitter resentment. She hated how effortlessly I commanded the attention of the room without uttering a single word.
Shiaoza nearly dropped his champagne glass, his knees trembling as he watched me glide across the red carpet directly toward the VIP stage.
Every eye in the room followed my every step. The whispers were immediate and deafening:
“Did the concierge say Chairwoman and CEO?”
“I thought Shiaoza was the head of the conglomerate!”
“Look at that sapphire choker... that’s an authentic Romanov heirloom piece!”
I reached the elevated platform and ascended the three carpeted steps with effortless grace.
“Good evening, Mother-in-law,” I said, my voice smooth, melodic, and carrying effortlessly across the silent ballroom. “Happy seventieth birthday.”
Beatrice quickly forced a tight, artificial smile onto her wrinkled face, desperate to maintain her illusion of absolute matriarchal dominance in front of her high-society peers.
“Elena,” Beatrice said stiffly, extending a limp, diamond-covered hand for me to kiss—a gesture I completely ignored. “You’ve certainly made a dramatic entrance. But I see you arrived alone. Where is the tribute you promised to present to me before our distinguished guests?”
Lady Harrington, Duchess DuPont, and dozens of surrounding elites leaned in closer, eager to witness the presentation of the mythical half-million-dollar white Patek Philippe.
Shiaoza rushed onto the platform, his face dripping with sweat, his eyes wide with desperate, silent pleading. “Elena... please... not here... let’s do this in private...”
I turned slightly, casting a cold, dismissive glance at my trembling husband, before reaching into my beaded evening clutch.
“Of course, Mother-in-law,” I announced clearly, my voice ringing out like a silver bell across the entire room. “I promised you that you would receive the exact watch my husband procured using our family’s corporate funds.”
I pulled out the velvet-lined mahogany box, unclasped the brass latch, and opened it wide for the entire VIP table—and the society photographers—to see.
There, resting on the black velvet, was the gleaming, diamond-encrusted white ceramic Patek Philippe Grand Complications.
Beatrice gasped in genuine delight, her eyes lighting up with unbridled greed. “Oh! It’s exquisite! Truly magnificent! Shiaoza, you see? Your wife finally did something worthy of our family name!”
Beatrice reached out her greedy fingers to snatch the watch from the box.
Before her hand could touch the platinum casing, I smoothly snapped the lid shut with a sharp, echoing CLACK!
Beatrice flinched, pulling her hand back in shock and outrage. “Elena! What is the meaning of this insolence?”
May you like
I looked at the matriarch of the Shiao family with eyes as cold as deep-space ice.
“Before you put this watch on your wrist, Mother-in-law,” I said, turning the mahogany box around so the engraved brass plate on the base faced the entire room, “perhaps you should ask your son why he had his twenty-four-year-old secretary wear it to work this morning, while she ordered me to take the freight stairs in my own building.”
Related Stories
