Half an hour later Elias reached Ariston Design House to deliver the folder Serena had forgotten. He straightened his patched jacket and stepped toward the glass doors — but a tall bodyguard blocked his path, the end of a stun baton humming faintly in his hand.
"Move along. We don't admit beggars," the guard said, voice flat.
Elias gave a patient, tired smile. "I'm here to deliver this document to my wife."
The guard sneered. "Your wife? Which one — the kitchen maid or the messenger girl?"
"Serena Ariston," Elias replied.
The guard's face shifted from contempt to laughter. "Of course. The Ariston son-in-law. Hand it over."
"No," Elias said quietly but firmly. "Serena asked me to bring it personally."
The guard's scorn only sharpened. Around them the lobby hummed with employees and visitors, a place where names meant everything. The guard gestured as if to push Elias away.
At that moment a deep roar of an engine cut through the murmurs. A sleek black BMW glided to a stop at the curb with a practiced drift; the driver's door opened and Damien Ross stepped out, a bouquet wrapped in velvet in one hand and a smug smile on his face.
"Mr. Ross!" the guard immediately straightened, changing his tone to obsequiousness. "We've been expecting you."
Damien inclined his head, then strolled toward the entrance without deigning to glance at Elias.
Elias moved to follow — but the guard pressed his baton across Elias's chest. "You see? You're not welcome to—"
"Why is he allowed and I'm not?" Elias asked, incredulous.
"Because," the guard said, watching Damien's approach, "some people bring roses that cost more than you earn in a year. You're just a disgrace to the Ariston name."
Elias felt the old sting of humiliation, but his expression stayed steady. He had learned to carry their contempt quietly.
The elevator doors parted and Serena stepped out, floral dress catching the light. Lyra Vale and Nina Cross followed, the three women an island of composure amid the lobby's bustle.
Damien bowed slightly as he offered the bouquet. "For you, Miss Ariston. Consider it a small token."
Serena's jaw tightened. The proposal from the night before still stung; the city had gossiped about it all morning. She forced a polite smile. "Mr. Ross, I invited you to discuss a business arrangement, not for gifts."
"It's nothing," Damien said, voice smooth. "Consider it… appreciation for a talented woman."
He lingered too long, eyes sharp as he watched Serena. The guard hovered nearby like a hound.
Without warning, Elias forced his way past the guard. In one fluid motion he seized the bouquet from Damien's hands and flung it to the marble floor. Rose petals scattered like blood across the polished surface.
The lobby went silent.
"Don't take things from others," Elias said softly, voice carrying in the stillness. He reached for Serena's hand and gripped it, pulling her toward the elevator. His touch was firm, protective — and entirely public.
"Elias, let go of me," Serena hissed, mortified. Her hand trembled; she was the company's CEO and the spectacle was dangerous to her reputation.
Damien's face went white with a slow, rising fury. He slammed his palm against the elevator doors; they slid open again. "You insolent—" he began, teeth bared.
"You'll pay for that," he snarled, voice low and dangerous. "Who do you think you are, humiliating me and ruining a very expensive gift?"
The guard stepped closer, baton raised. Employees watched from behind desks and glass partitions, afraid to breathe.
Damien's eyes glinted with rage as he took one more threatening step forward.
"Otherwise," he growled, his voice like cold steel, "you will have to pay a heavy price with your life."