Chapter 2: The Useless King
The first time Elise called me useless, the room became quiet for less than a second.
Then someone laughed.
It came from near the windows, where my cousin Stephen stood with a glass of champagne in one hand. His laughter sounded uncertain at first, as if he thought Elise might be joking and wanted to respond correctly before anyone else did.
A few more people joined him.
My uncle gave a tired smile.
Two men from the company looked down at their drinks.
Elise’s mother covered her mouth, but not quickly enough to hide the pleasure in her expression.
I sat in the middle of my father’s ballroom with a gray blanket across my lap and my hands resting lightly on the wheels of the chair. It was the annual Sterling Industries Founders' Gala, hosted at my own estate. I was supposed to be the master of ceremonies. Instead, I was a tragic centerpiece.
"Oh, Arthur, don't glare at me like that," Elise cooed, stepping toward my chair. She was wearing a stunning emerald gown, the exact color of the company's logo. She reached out and patted my cheek with a patronizing, pitying smile. "You know I'm only teasing. But really, asking you to carve the roast when you can barely reach the table... it's just impractical now. Stephen will do it."
"Of course, Elise," Stephen said smoothly, setting his champagne glass down and stepping up to the head of the long banquet table. He picked up the carving knife, looking down at me with a sickening display of false sympathy. "Rest your arms, Arthur. We've got everything handled."
The sheer audacity of it burned in my chest. They weren't just stealing my company; they were castrating me in front of my own family and executives. They were systematically dismantling my authority, painting me as a fragile, helpless invalid who needed his beautiful, tragic wife and his strong, capable cousin to carry his burdens.
I looked up at Elise. I let my shoulders slump. I made my eyes look defeated, hollow, and utterly broken.
"You're right," I murmured, my voice intentionally weak. "I apologize. It's just... frustrating."
"We know, darling," Elise sighed dramatically, looking around the room to ensure everyone saw her playing the role of the martyred wife. "It's hard on all of us. But we're going to get through this together."
She turned her back to me to speak to my uncle. As she did, she caught Stephen's eye across the table. It was a fleeting glance, less than a second, but it contained volumes. It was a look of pure, intoxicating triumph.
Beneath the gray cashmere blanket, my hands clenched into tight fists. My quadriceps flexed, the muscle fibers screaming with suppressed energy. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to stand up, kick the wheelchair across the polished marble floor, and wrap my hands around Stephen's throat.
But patience is a weapon.
May you like
I let my hands fall back to the wheels, gripping the cold metal rims. I bowed my head, playing the part of the useless king perfectly. I let them laugh. I let them pity me. I let them grow bloated on their own arrogance.
Because a predator is never more vulnerable than when it believes its prey is already dead.
