Chapter 4 - The Country Club
Two weeks later, the blistering summer sun beat down on the manicured lawns of the Whispering Pines Country Club. The estate, formerly an exclusive playground for the ultra-rich, had undergone a massive renovation since its silent acquisition by the Sterling Group.
Vivian Kensington stood in the sweltering heat near the service entrance, wearing an ill-fitting, scratchy gray uniform. The fabric chafed her skin, and the heavy rubber gloves made her hands sweat profusely. She leaned against a brick wall, gasping for breath, her hands blistered from scrubbing grout for six straight hours.
She had tried to run. Oh, she had tried. But every time she attempted to leave the city, federal agents mysteriously appeared, reminding her that her passport was confiscated and she was a person of interest in Julian's embezzlement case. Then came the man in the black suit with a simple contract: Work off the Kensington family debt at Whispering Pines, or face immediate incarceration for aiding and abetting corporate fraud.
A sleek, black Lamborghini Aventador pulled up to the main valet stand. Vivian peeked around the corner, her stomach twisting in a knot of humiliation.
Standing at the valet podium was Julian Vance. His designer hair was ruined by a cheap baseball cap, and he wore a tacky red vest over a polo shirt. He looked exhausted, his face gaunt, the arrogance completely beaten out of him.
The door of the Lamborghini opened, and out stepped Richard Sterling—a young, cocky tech billionaire who used to practically beg Julian for funding. Richard adjusted his designer sunglasses, tossing the keys carelessly. They hit Julian right in the chest, clattering to the pavement.
"Careful with the clutch, Vance," Richard sneered, laughing as Julian scrambled to pick up the keys. "It's worth more than your entire bloodline right now."
Julian’s jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the keys. Two weeks ago, he would have destroyed Richard for looking at him wrong. Now, he forced a tight, humiliating smile and bowed his head. "Right away, sir."
Vivian watched Julian drive the car away, a sick feeling washing over her. She couldn't take this anymore. She ripped off her rubber gloves, throwing them onto the pavement. "I quit," she muttered to herself, tears welling in her eyes. "I'll go to jail. It’s better than this."
"I wouldn't advise that, Miss Kensington."
Vivian spun around. Standing in the shade of the service canopy was Maya Sterling. She was flanked by two massive security guards, looking like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus in a chic, tailored white sundress.
"Who are you?" Vivian demanded, though her voice shook. She recognized the aura of power. It was the same terrifying energy the cleaning lady at the wedding possessed.
"My name is Maya Sterling," the young woman said, stepping into the light. "I am the new owner of this establishment. And, by extension, the owner of your debt."
Vivian’s breath hitched. Sterling. The name struck her like a physical blow. She backed up until her shoulders hit the brick wall.
"You..." Vivian whispered, recognizing Maya’s face from years ago, though the girl before her was far more polished and lethal than the quiet student she remembered. "You were the scholarship girl at St. Jude's."
"A social experiment by my grandmother, yes," Maya smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You locked me in a closet for twelve hours because I wore the same dress as you to the spring dance. Do you remember?"
Vivian’s legs gave out. She slid down the brick wall, hitting the concrete floor. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, the fight completely draining out of her. "I'm so sorry. Please, just let me go. You've taken everything. We have nothing left!"
Maya crouched down, bringing her face level with Vivian’s. The smell of expensive gardenia perfume wafted over Vivian, a harsh contrast to the bleach she had been breathing all day.
"I haven't taken everything, Vivian," Maya whispered softly. "I haven't taken your pride. Not completely. And until you realize exactly what it means to be invisible, to be stepped on by people who think they are gods... you will not leave this property."
Maya stood up, wiping imaginary dust from her skirt. She looked down at Vivian with absolute authority.
"Bathroom three in the east wing has a plumbing issue. Someone threw up in it. I suggest you get your gloves."
May you like
With that, Maya turned and walked away, her heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement.
Vivian sat on the ground for a long time, the scorching sun beating down on her. Slowly, defeatedly, she reached out, picked up the thick rubber gloves, and pulled them back onto her blistered hands. She had no choice. She was trapped in a hell of her own making, and the devil wore Prada.
