Chapter 2 - The Guest List
By 2:30 PM, the grand ballroom of the St. Regis was humming with the low, sophisticated murmur of two hundred wealthy guests. High-society elite, corporate titans, and local politicians milled about, sipping vintage champagne beneath crystal chandeliers.
Downstairs in the holding room, security manager Mark Vance—no relation, but a trusted ally of my father for two decades—handed me an iPad.
“You were right, Miss Vance,” Mark said in a low tone. “At 1:15 PM, a woman wearing a floor-length trench coat, large sunglasses, and a silk scarf entered through the service kitchen entrance. She used a copied keycard to access the fifth floor.”
I swiped through the crystal-clear security stills. The angle captured her face as she looked up to adjust her scarf near the elevator bay.
Vanessa. Dark brown hair, sharp features, wearing expensive red lipstick—the exact shade currently staining my suite mirror.
“She’s still in the hotel,” Mark added, tapping the screen. “She didn't leave through the front or back exits. We tracked her down to Table 14 in the main reception hall.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Table 14? Who put her on the guest list?”
“She didn't use an invitation,” Mark explained. “She walked in with Mr. Vance’s cousin, Julian. She’s wearing a navy cocktail dress now. She changed in the lobby restroom.”
I couldn't help but chuckle softly. She hadn't just destroyed my dress; she had stayed behind to watch the fall. She wanted a front-row seat to my humiliation. She wanted to see me sob, see the wedding get cancelled, and see Daniel comfort her in secret afterwards.
“Do you want me to have hotel security escort her off the property quietly?” Mark asked, his hand resting near his radio.
“Absolutely not,” I said immediately. “Give her the best seat in the house. Ensure her glass is always full of champagne.”
“Are you sure, Emily?” Claire asked, hovering behind me in her bridesmaid gown. “She’s unhinged. What if she tries something during the vows?”
“Let her try,” I said, turning to look at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The white crepe jumpsuit fit like a second skin. The silk cape draped elegantly over my shoulders, giving me the silhouette of a warrior queen rather than a blushing bride. I replaced my grandmother’s ruined veil with a sleek, minimalist diamond hairpiece.
My mother walked into the holding room, her face pale. “Emily... your father just spoke with Daniel in the lounge. Daniel is asking why you’re isolated upstairs. He’s getting nervous.”
“Good,” I said. “Nervous men make mistakes.”
“Emily, please,” my mother pleaded, taking my hands. “If this man is using you... if he doesn't love you, why are we putting on this show? Let’s just call off the wedding, ruin his reputation with a press release, and go home.”
“If we call it off now, Mom,” I said softly, looking into her eyes, “he gets off easy. He goes back to his life, claims we had 'creative differences,' and tries to target another wealthy heiress next year. He put eleven months of calculated deception into my family. He targeted dad’s firm. He compromised our private records.”
I squeezed her hands tightly.
“He doesn't just deserve to lose. He deserves to lose everything in front of every single person whose opinion he values.”
My mother looked at me for a long moment. She saw no tears in my eyes, no tremor in my hands. Slowly, the fear in her expression faded, replaced by a cold, familiar resolve. She was, after all, married to Richard Vance.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked quietely.
“Tell Dad to make sure the private notary is seated in the front row,” I instructed. “And make sure the media cameras from the Business Journal are broadcasting live to the screen in the lounge.”
Ten minutes later, the grand organ began to play.
The heavy double doors of the cathedral ballroom swung open.
The chatter in the room instantly died down. Whispers rippled through the crowd as I stepped onto the white carpet. Instead of the traditional ballgown everyone expected, I floated down the aisle in my striking white jumpsuit and cape.
I kept my eyes locked straight ahead, past the rows of stunned faces.
I saw Daniel standing at the altar. He looked impeccably handsome in his custom Tom Ford tuxedo, his hair styled to perfection. But as I walked closer, I saw the subtle shift in his eyes. Panic. Confusion. His gaze swept over my attire, searching frantically for the lavish lace gown he knew my family had spent sixty thousand dollars on.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Table 14.
Vanessa was sitting there, clutching her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles were white. Her eyes were wide with shock. She looked at my sleek jumpsuit, then at my face, realizing instantly that her little blade hadn't stopped a single thing.
I gave her a microscopic, razor-sharp smile as I passed her row.
When I reached the altar, Daniel took my hands. His palms were clammy.
“Emily...” he whispered under his breath, leaning in while the priest began the opening prayers. “Where... where is the dress? What happened to your grandmother's lace?”
I looked deep into his blue eyes, admiring how thoroughly fake he was.
“There was an accident upstairs, Daniel,” I whispered back softly, keeping my smile radiant for the guests. “Someone tried to ruin our special day.”
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Daniel’s jaw tightened. He glanced nervously toward the audience, his eyes darting toward Table 14 for a fraction of a second. “An accident? What do you mean? Should we pause—”
“Oh, don't worry, my love,” I murmured, my voice dropping to a icy whisper. “Nothing is going to stop today. You’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”
