Chapter 3 - The 999 Missed Calls
By 7:30 a.m. on Saturday, the Peninsula Chicago’s grand ballroom was already bathed in soft, romantic lighting. Four hundred gold-rimmed chairs faced an altar smothered in thirty thousand dollars' worth of imported white Ecuadorian roses—white roses, Vanessa’s favorite, which Ethan had insisted upon under the guise of "traditional elegance."
String quartet members were tuning their violins in the corner. Photographers from Chicago Social magazine were adjusting their lenses near the front row, waiting for the bride's arrival.
In the groom’s suite on the twentieth floor, Ethan Whitmore stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, adjusting the silk lapel of his Tom Ford tuxedo. His tie was straight, his hair was perfectly styled, but his jaw was clenched so tight a muscle twitched violently beneath his skin.
His phone lay on the marble dresser. It had been buzzing, ringing, and pinging continuously for the past four hours.
"Ethan," his best man, Julian, murmured, stepping into the room with a glass of scotch in his hand. "People are starting to fill the ballroom. The seating ushers are asking where Emma is. Her parents are downstairs in the VIP holding room wondering why they haven't seen her yet."
Ethan didn't turn around. He stared at his reflection, his eyes bloodshot from a night entirely devoid of sleep.
"She’s being difficult," Ethan said, his voice flat and dangerously controlled. "She found out about the administrative paperwork with Vanessa yesterday. She’s throwing a tantrum."
Julian choked slightly on his scotch. "Administrative paperwork? Ethan, your mother said you went to the Cook County courthouse yesterday afternoon. Did you... did you actually marry Vanessa?"
"It was a legal necessity!" Ethan snapped, whirling around to face his friend. "Vanessa’s father left her with a mountain of unassigned medical debt and pending lawsuits that could have compromised our upcoming commercial developments. A quick civil marriage grants her spousal protections and shields my assets. It was supposed to stay quiet until our real life—our life together—began today."
Julian stared at him as if Ethan had lost his mind. "And you didn't think Emma—a brilliant, fiercely proud thoracic surgeon—would mind being the second wife on paper while playing the fiancée in public?"
"She’s a rational woman," Ethan insisted, though the conviction in his voice was beginning to fray. "She’ll realize that the wedding secures her position as a Whitmore. Once the ceremony is over, we'll quietly annul the civil filing with Vanessa and do it right. But right now... she isn't answering her phone."
Ethan grabbed his cell phone from the dresser.
The lock screen illuminated an avalanche of notifications.
Missed Calls: 412 Missed Calls: 658 Missed Calls: 999+
Calls from Emma. Calls from the wedding coordinator. Calls from the hotel manager. Calls from Henry Whitmore’s private nurse, asking why Dr. Carter wasn't returning emergency pages regarding the patriarch's heart monitor fluctuations.
Ethan’s thumb shook as he dialed my number directly.
May you like
The subscriber you have dialed is currently unavailable or outside the coverage area.
"Damn it, Emma," Ethan hissed, grabbing his car keys. "Julian, stall the guests. Tell them the bride is running late due to hair and makeup delays. I’m going to her apartment."
