Chapter 5 - The Empty Reception Hall
Julian stopped walking. He turned his head slightly, looking down at the woman who had demanded his mother be thrown out of her own son’s wedding just ten minutes prior.
“You have twenty thousand dollars worth of French lace, Stephanie,” Julian said without a trace of mockery. “And an entire ballroom of guests waiting for a reception that has already been paid for. I suggest you go cut the cake by yourself.”
Without waiting for a response, Julian offered his arm to his mother. Side by side, they walked down the central aisle, stepping carefully over the spilled pearls as the congregation parted for them like water before a stone. The heavy oak doors swung open, letting in a blinding shaft of golden afternoon sunlight that chased away the shadows of the cathedral.
Stephanie remained on the floor, her chest heaving as silent, choking sobs racked her body. The cathedral doors slammed shut behind Julian and Martha, sealing the bride inside a tomb of her own making.
Twenty minutes later, Stephanie forced herself to her feet. Her knees trembled, and the heavy layers of silk and lace felt like lead weights dragging her down. With her veil dragging behind her like a tattered ghost, she walked out of the cathedral and into the waiting limousine that was supposed to take the newlyweds to their honeymoon.
The driver, a young man in a crisp gray uniform who knew nothing of the morning's disaster, opened the door with a polite smile.
“To the Grand Hotel ballroom, Miss Vance?” the driver asked.
“Drive,” Stephanie muttered, collapsing onto the leather seat and turning her face toward the tinted glass.
The ride across town felt like a funeral procession. When the limousine finally pulled up to the glittering entrance of the Grand Hotel, the doorman rushed forward, but his smile faltered the instant he saw the bride staggering out alone, her hair half-unpinned, her dress stained with altar dust.
Stephanie pushed past him, marching through the grand double doors and into the massive, sunlit reception hall.
Five hundred of the state’s most elite citizens sat around circular tables adorned with crystal chandeliers and imported white roses. A live jazz quartet played softly in the corner, unaware of the catastrophe unfolding across town. When the heavy doors banged open, every head turned.
Silence swept through the room faster than a brushfire.
Stephanie stood in the center of the doorway, panting, her eyes wild and desperate as she scanned the crowd of gaping faces. Her father was in a federal holding cell. Her groom had annulled the marriage before the vows were even signed. And her fortune was gone.
“The wedding is canceled,” Stephanie screamed, her voice cracking as she ripped the veil from her hair and threw it onto the polished marble floor.
May you like
A collective murmur erupted from the tables, but before anyone could stand, the ballroom’s main projection screen flickered to life behind the head table, glowing with a giant, high-definition photo of Thomas Vance’s signed confession.
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