fiction

Chapter 7 - The Digital Wildfire

The wedding planner stood in the doorway, clutching her pearl-encrusted tablet so hard her fingers were turning blue. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup smeared, and her chest heaved as if she had just sprinted a marathon.

"Mr. Ashford—Lady Eleanor—" she gasped, struggling to catch her breath.

"Out," Richard barked, eager to deflect from the interrogation. "Can't you see we are having a private family discussion?"

"You don't understand," the planner stammered, holding up the tablet like a shield. "It's... it's already online. All of it."

The room went dead silent.

"What are you talking about?" Daniel asked, stepping forward.

"The guests," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Someone in the third row—one of Victoria’s sorority friends—was livestreaming the processional on TikTok. The slap... the candle... the fire... and then..." She swallowed hard, staring directly at me. "...and then the diamonds. The video of the Laurent dress being revealed under the burned silk hit the algorithm five minutes ago."

She tapped the screen, and the audio of a viral news aggregator began to play in the quiet library: —breaking news out of Boston, where a high-society Hawthorne wedding turned into a cinematic explosion this morning. The bride, initially believed to be an ordinary administrative assistant, revealed herself to be the sole heir to the Laurent shipping and diamond empire after her future sister-in-law attempted to burn her wedding dress live on stream—

"It's trending worldwide," the planner whispered. "Hashtag #BrideOnFire is the number one global topic right now. Reporters are swarming the front gates of the manor. The livestream has twenty million views."

Margaret let out a low, pathetic moan and covered her face with both hands. The Ashford name—a name that had guarded its pristine, untouchable reputation for over two centuries—was currently being shredded, meme'd, and broadcast to billions of screens across the planet.

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Grandma Eleanor didn't look panicked. In fact, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of her lips.

"Well," Grandma murmured, leaning back into her leather chair. "At least the tailoring wasn't wasted on an empty room."

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