Chapter 8 - Playing the Groom
By Saturday afternoon, the Lake Forest estate was transformed into a fairytale landscape of white roses, cascading orchids, and crystal pavilions erected across the back lawn. Helicopters belonging to national media outlets hovered quietly in the restricted airspace above Lake Michigan, broadcasting live feeds of high-society guests arriving in custom town cars and designer gowns.
It was the society wedding of the decade.
Inside the groom’s dressing suite, Ethan stood before the full-length mirror as a master tailor carefully adjusted the lapels of his bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo.
Chief Vance stood near the doorway, holding a secure encrypted radio.
"Everything is in position, Mr. Whitmore," Vance reported quietly. "The federal marshals have surrounded the perimeter. The media has been tipped off about a major corporate fraud announcement following the ceremony. And Victor Crane’s legal team has officially abandoned ship after realizing their client is facing twenty-five years in federal prison."
Ethan adjusted his platinum cufflinks, his reflection steady and unflinching.
"And the bride?" Ethan asked.
"Dressed in her Vera Wang gown, guarded by two armed plainclothes officers, and currently escorted down the grand staircase exactly on schedule," Vance replied with a faint smirk. "She doesn't know whether she’s attending a wedding or being led to the gallows."
"Good," Ethan said, picking up his black silk bowtie. "Let’s not keep our guests waiting."
Out on the lawn, under a massive floral archway overlooking the lake, five hundred of the wealthiest, most powerful people in the Midwest sat in white folding chairs, murmuring excitedly among themselves. String quartets played Vivaldi softly in the background.
Evelyn Whitmore sat in the front row, wearing an exquisite emerald dress, her posture rigid, her head held high with quiet, fierce dignity. Beside her sat Elena and Sophie—yes, Elena and Sophie—dressed in matching custom floral dresses, seated right in the inner circle of family and honored guests. Several society matrons stared in open shock at the housekeeper and her daughter sitting among the elite, but none dared say a word after Evelyn gave them a single, razor-sharp look that instantly silenced the gossip.
The wedding march began to play.
The heavy oak doors at the end of the aisle swung open.
Camille Foster stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight. She looked breathtaking. Her Vera Wang gown shimmered with thousands of hand-sewn crystals, her veil cascaded down her back like a waterfall of silk, and her face was painted with a mask of absolute, unflinching perfection.
She walked down the aisle, her head held high, ignoring the whispers of the crowd. She assumed that at the last second, Ethan had realized the scandal of a public cancellation would destroy his stock price, forcing him to play along until they could quietly settle things behind closed doors.
She reached the altar.
Ethan was waiting for her, standing tall and motionless beneath the floral archway, looking every bit the billionaire titan he was.
Camille stepped up beside him, offering a tight, venomous smile beneath her veil.
"You're making a terrible mistake, Ethan," she whispered through her teeth as the minister cleared his throat to begin.
Ethan didn't look at her. He looked straight out past the altar, toward the back of the pavilion where Chief Vance stood near the media podium, holding a heavy manila folder.
The minister opened his leather-bound Bible, looked out over the hushed crowd, and began.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."
Camille smiled triumphantly. She had won. Whatever drama had happened in the past forty-eight hours, she was standing at the altar, about to become a Whitmore.
Then, Ethan raised his hand.
The minister stopped mid-sentence, blinking in confusion.
The string quartet faded into awkward silence.
Five hundred high-society guests leaned forward in their seats, holding their breath.
May you like
Ethan turned, looking directly at Camille. Then, he looked out at the sea of powerful faces, and finally toward the media cameras broadcasting live across the nation.
"We interrupt this program," Ethan’s voice rang out, clear, cold, and amplified perfectly by his lapel microphone, "for a brief corporate announcement."
