Chapter 3 - Christmas Morning in the Hills
While the blizzard raged on through the early hours of Christmas morning, transforming the Minnesota landscape into a silent, glittering wasteland, the atmosphere inside Evan Ward’s sprawling suburban mansion in Edina could not have been more different.
The heat was turned up to a stifling seventy-eight degrees. Expensive jazz holiday music played softly from recessed speakers. Beneath the ten-foot-tall imported balsam fir tree, dozens of designer shopping bags—Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Cartier—were piled high, purchased with credit lines Evan had maxed out over the past month.
Evan woke up with a pleasant, victorious smile stretching across his face.
He stretched lazily beneath Egyptian cotton sheets, turning his head to look at the empty side of the bed where Nora used to sleep. A smirk touched his lips. He felt no guilt, no remorse—only the exhilarating lightness of a man who believed he had successfully shed an inconvenient past to step into a glittering, high-society future.
Beside him, Bianca stirred, her silk sleep mask sliding down her forehead as she blinked open heavily made-up eyes.
“Morning, handsome,” Bianca murmured sleepily, stretching her arms around Evan’s neck. “Merry Christmas. Do you think your mother already got rid of all those ugly handmade blankets your ex left in the guest closet?”
“They’re gone, sweetheart,” Evan chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Mother handled everything last night before the snow got too heavy. Clean break. No mess, no drama. Just you, me, and the start of our real life.”
“You’re so ruthless, Evan,” Bianca giggled, snuggling closer. “I love it. Remind me why we waited so long to kick her out?”
“Because I needed time to consolidate the corporate restructuring,” Evan said smugly, throwing back the duvet and swinging his legs out of bed. “Today, the board meets for our Christmas capital allocation vote. Once that’s finalized, my equity stake crosses the seventy percent threshold. I’m officially untouchable.”
May you like
He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, pulling back the silk drapes to gaze out at the pristine, snow-covered front lawn. He pictured Nora walking out into the freezing dark with her little daughter and those cheap plastic trash bags, and a cold wave of satisfaction washed over him. People like Nora, he convinced himself, were anchors holding brilliant men back.
He had no idea that the anchor had just cut the rope, and his ship was already sinking.
