Chapter 4 - The Arrival of the Titan
The massive twin projector screens behind the floral wedding arch flickered to life.
The security footage was crystal clear, capturing a wide-angle view of the ballroom entrance from twenty minutes prior. The room watched in stunned silence as the video played.
On the screen, Chloe was seen standing near the champagne fountain before the commotion started. But she wasn't alone. She was whispering frantically with her cousin, Amanda.
The camera zoomed in automatically under Mr. Harrison’s command. The crowd gasped as the screen clearly showed Chloe pulling the massive diamond ring off her finger and slipping it directly into Amanda’s silver evening purse.
Chloe had patted Amanda on the shoulder, winked, and pointed across the room toward where I was sitting quietly eating fruit. Moments later, Chloe had walked into the center of the dance floor, clutched her bare hand, and screamed that her ring was stolen.
The entire ballroom went dead silent.
All two hundred guests turned as one, staring at Chloe and Amanda in horror and utter disgust.
“You… you set her up?” a guest near the front whispered loudly. “She framed her own sister-in-law!”
Chloe’s face turned from pale to blotchy red. “It’s… it’s a fake video! She manipulated the tech! She owns the hotel, she altered the footage!”
“Amanda,” I said softly, looking at the cowering cousin near the exit. “Open your purse.”
Two female security officers stepped up to Amanda, swiftly taking the silver bag from her trembling hands and opening it. One of the officers reached inside and pulled out the blinding, multi-carat diamond ring, holding it up for the entire room to see.
Before Chloe could utter another lie, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom burst open once again.
Outside, the screech of heavy tires echoed through the grand driveway. Four black, armored Maybachs sat idling under the marquee lights, surrounded by dozens of armed security personnel in tactical suits.
Walking down the center aisle of the ballroom, flanked by six top-tier corporate attorneys in tailored charcoal suits, was a tall man with silver hair, sharp blue eyes, and a presence that made the air in the room freeze.
Charles Sterling. My father.
Eleanor gasped, recognizing the man whose face frequented the covers of Forbes and The Wall Street Journal.
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Charles didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at the decor. His razor-sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed on me—on my pale face, my trembling hand, and my torn maternity dress.
A wave of terrifying, murderous fury washed over his refined features.
