“You were always our family’s greatest shame, so don’t even think about sitting at the front tables,” my mother told me at my sister’s luxury wedding, forcing me to stand in the rain outside with my little girl. Minutes later, my husband arrived in a black-suited convoy, took one look at our soaking wet daughter, and locked eyes with the wealthy groom who had mocked us. “Kneel and apologize to my princess,” my husband demanded, and as the guards drew their weapons, the arrogant groom dropped straight to his knees in front of all three hundred guests.
It wasn’t a shout; it was an absolute mandate. Ryan snapped his mouth shut, his teeth clicking together.
Christopher reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat. He pulled out a sleek, matte-black smartphone. He tapped a single contact, hit dial, and pressed the speakerphone button, holding the phone up for the entire garden to hear.