Chapter 4
As the tension in the ballroom reached a fever pitch, Julian Vance—Elena’s older brother and the man who had reluctantly funded a significant portion of the wedding expenses—pushed his way through the stunned crowd. Julian was an analytical corporate attorney, a man rarely given to emotional outbursts, but seeing his sister lying helpless on the marble floor while the bride shrieked in self-absorption broke his restraint. His eyes bypassed Chloe entirely, locking onto the groom, Thomas Sterling, who had finally emerged from the VIP lounge with a drink in his hand.
Thomas looked remarkably unconcerned, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal glass as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. His dark tuxedo was immaculate, contrasting sharply with the chaotic scene before him.
“Julian, old boy, what's all the shouting about?” Thomas asked smoothly, attempting a disarming smile that failed to reach his cold, calculating eyes. “Can't a bride have a moment of dramatic flair without half the room calling for an inquisition?”
Julian marched up to the groom, stopping inches away. The height difference was negligible, but the intensity radiating from Julian made Thomas involuntarily take a half-step back. “Your bride just sabotaged my sister,” Julian said, his voice dangerously low and controlled. “And you stand there acting like this is a spectator sport. I want the security logs from the east corridor, Thomas. Now.”
Thomas’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a micro-expression of panic crossing his face before he plastered his corporate mask back on. “You're letting your protective instincts cloud your judgment, Julian. Elena tripped over her own heels. Everyone saw it.”
“Nobody saw her trip,” Arthur Pendelton interrupted, standing up from beside Elena with quiet dignity. The older man wiped his hands with a handkerchief, his gaze fixed piercingly on the groom. “I was watching the entire sequence from the terrace doors. The chair was kicked out from behind the pillar by someone wearing custom patent leather shoes—the exact same style Thomas insisted all his groomsmen wear tonight.”
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A collective gasp rippled through the gathered guests. Whispers erupted like a swarm of angry hornets. Chloe stopped her tirade, her mouth dropping open as she stared at her new husband, the realization dawning that she might have been a pawn in a much darker game.
Marcus Thorne stepped over to Julian's side, holding up a small black flash drive he had retrieved from the pocket of a discarded jacket behind the floral arch. “The high-definition cameras don't lie, Mr. Sterling,” Marcus stated quietly. “Would you like to play the footage on the main projector for everyone to enjoy, or shall we handle this in the security office?”
