Chapter 2
The string quartet stopped mid-measure. The murmur of two hundred wealthy guests died instantly, leaving only the hum of the air conditioning and Leo’s muffled whimpers against Laura’s hip.
"Laura, shut your mouth!" David lunged forward, grabbing for the papers scattered across the marble. "Shut your damn mouth right now!"
"I asked you a question, David!" Laura shouted, stepping directly into his path, her eyes blazing with an icy, lethal fury. "Read the signature line! Read the card number stamped on the deposit for this ballroom! Read the catering invoice!"
Evelyn scoffed, though her rosy cheeks twitched with sudden anxiety. "You insolent liar! David paid for this wedding! My son provided every single dollar for his sister's special day!"
"Is that what he told you, Evelyn?" Laura laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that cut through the room. "Look at the paper, you vicious old bat! That is my personal trust account at JPMorgan Chase! Two hundred and forty thousand dollars wired directly to the St. Regis catering department on Tuesday morning!"
"What is going on here?"
Brenda Bennett marched through the parted crowd, her seventy-thousand-dollar imported silk gown rustling aggressively. Behind her stood Mark Collins, the groom, holding a crystal tumbler of scotch, his handsome face frozen in irritation.
"Why are you screaming at my mother?" Brenda shrieked, glaring at Laura. "This is my wedding! My day! David, get this hysterical woman out of here before she ruins my entrance!"
"Your wedding?" Laura turned to face the bride. "You mean the wedding where you ordered forty bottles of vintage Dom Pérignon and charged them to my private line without my permission?"
Brenda’s jaw dropped. "David said—"
"David lied to you!" Laura threw another sheaf of invoices at Brenda’s feet. "David hasn't earned a dime of commission in six months! The company he claims to run is bleeding red ink! Look at the dates, Brenda! The venue, the flowers, the Vera Wang gown you're wearing right now—every single stitch of it was paid for by the money my father left me!"
Mark Collins looked down at the paper resting near his polished oxford shoe. He bent down, picked it up, and squinted at the bank transfer header.
"Wait a second," Mark muttered, his American drawl dropping into confusion. "David, you told me your family’s real estate holdings covered the deposit. This says 'The Sterling-Hayes Family Trust. Beneficiary: Laura Bennett.'"
"Mark, put that down!" Evelyn ordered, her voice climbing into a panicked shriek. "Don't listen to her! She's mentally unstable! We took her in when she had nothing! She’s just a jealous, ungrateful—"
"Don't you dare speak about what you gave me!" Laura shouted, stepping until she was inches from Evelyn’s nose. "You gave me nothing! You took my wedding ring to pay your country club dues two years ago! You forced me to live in that dilapidated carriage house while you redecorated your mansion with my quarterly dividends!"
"Laura, stop it!" David grabbed Laura’s shoulder, his fingers digging into her collarbone with genuine malice. "I am warning you! Shut up!"
Before he could pull her backward, Leo charged forward, his tiny hands balled into fists, slamming into David’s knees.
"Don't touch my mommy!" Leo cried out, his voice cracking with pure terror. "Don't touch her, you bad man!"
David reflexively shoved the boy away.
May you like
Laura moved like lightning. She caught David’s wrist, twisted it violently outward, and shoved him back with the full momentum of her body. David stumbled, his heel catching the edge of the dessert table, sending a three-tiered silver tray of macarons crashing to the floor in a shower of porcelain and sugar.
"Touch my son again," Laura whispered, her voice dropping into a register so dark it made the hair on David's neck stand up, "and I will take every single thing your family owns before the sun sets."
