Wife, Wine, War

Sure. Sylvia had mentioned this before. She had been promoting a fabricated romance between herself and this Jacques fellow as a marketing strategy. She insisted it was only to boost her company's visibility.

Then why were the fans presenting it as something real? Why did they make it sound as if there were genuine feelings between them?

I had endured enough of this spectacle.

"Enough," I shouted. "Sylvia will answer for this right now."

The crowd fell silent. Years of leading both my business and my family had given me a presence that even a disorderly crowd recognized.

With their eyes on me, I dialed Sylvia's number.

I called ten times before she finally answered.

"What happened to Belgard Estate, Sylvia?" I demanded.

"When are you going to stop bothering me?" she replied coldly. "Why should I explain myself to you? I can use the estate however I want. Get lost. Don't call me about this estate again. I don't have time for you."

The line went dead, and peals of laughter rippled through the crowd.

"He thinks he matters just because he has her private number! Too bad she didn't have time to entertain him!" someone jeered.

"This is embarrassing. You should leave before it gets worse, bum. If I were you, I would."

Melanie snickered. "I bet he's just another influencer who wanted to film something at this estate. Too bad he couldn't get in. Now he pesters Miss LePenn about it like a pathetic fool. He probably thinks he can trick his way into becoming her boyfriend."

I tightened my grip on the phone and ignored them.

Sylvia's tone confirmed what I had suspected. She had cheated.

We had been engaged for three years. No matter how busy she was, she had never hung up on me. She had never spoken to me in anything but a gentle, affectionate voice. The way she spoke just now was not normal.

The laughter continued, feeding my anger.

I called the city council.

"Hello. I am reclaiming my estate. No one is permitted to use it for any purpose from now on. Please send officers to Belgard to disperse this crowd."

The clerk sounded baffled. "No one is permitted to use it? What are you talking about? The estate was never lent out. It was leased, and at a high price. We paid 450,000 dollars.

"And didn't she give the estate to Jacques Martin? Incidents like this are why the mayor reconsidered working with the Vernon family. It has become too much."

The call ended, leaving me stunned.

They had paid 450,000 dollars. Why? The mayor and the Vernon family were close. Why would we charge them to use the estate? And if they paid, where had the money gone?

Sylvia would answer for this.

I turned to leave when a shrill scream pierced the air.

"Jaxie! Oh my God, hold me!"

"Jaxie, it's us! Your Jax-minnies are here!"

A young man approached, flanked by bodyguards. He moved at an unhurried pace, nodding and waving as he acknowledged his fans.

"Hello, Jax-minnies! I'm happy to see all of you! I can't wait to meet each of you in person!" he called. "Remember, meet-and-greet tickets are 214 dollars or 909 dollars. One represents the day of love, the other the day of my love."

He paused. "My majordomo informed me that a fan tried to enter Belgard through the back door. Who was it?"

The crowd answered with their stares.

I held my ground and met his gaze.

"Stop this. This is my estate, and I am not your fan," I said. "Belgard was meant to be available to influencers free of charge. Since when were tickets and rental fees required?"

Jacques looked at me with open contempt. "Since I made the rule. You have a problem with that? I had to carve out time to meet my fans. Time I could have spent on important work.

"Why shouldn't I charge for it? Or are you upset because you can't afford a ticket?"

His words incited the crowd.

Melanie urged several large men forward. They grabbed my arms so she could search my pockets.

"We'll find out soon enough whether he bought a ticket, Minnies," she declared.

She leaned closer to me. "Belgard is Jaxie's sanctuary. If you want in, you pay. And now that you've seen him, you owe him."

I struggled against their grip. Then something glinted at Jacques's waist.

A jeweled ornament I had purchased at auction for tens of thousands of dollars hung from his belt. I had displayed it on the estate's wall.

The sapphire ring on his finger caught the light. A master artisan of the 12th century had crafted it. I had placed it in the estate for visitors to admire.

Once I began to look, I saw it clearly. Every valuable item on that man's body had come from my estate.