Chapter 4 - The Security Footage
The entire crowd turned to look at the screen.
There, clear as day in 4K resolution, was the exact corner of the ballroom where the champagne fountain stood. The timestamp in the corner read 8:14 PM—precisely three minutes before Chloe's dramatic scream.
On the screen, Chloe wasn't crying over a lost ring.
Instead, the footage showed Chloe standing conspiratorially with her cousin, Amanda. They were whispering near a velvet-roped pillar. On the video, Chloe could be seen slipping her massive, multi-million-dollar diamond ring off her finger and sliding it directly into Amanda’s silver evening purse.
Immediately afterward, Chloe rushed back toward the center of the room, clutched her bare finger, and let out her blood-curdling scream.
Gasps erupted through the ballroom. Heads snapped toward Amanda, who was currently trying to melt into the woodwork near the exit doors, clutching her silver purse like a drowning sailor clinging to a life raft.
"Amanda!" Eleanor shrieked, whirling around to face her niece. "Did you—was this a setup?"
Amanda burst into tears, her composure entirely shattered. "She made me do it! Chloe said Vivienne was getting too comfortable, that Dominic was starting to feel guilty, and that they needed a foolproof way to humiliate her and kick her out with nothing before the baby was born so Dominic could marry the senator's daughter instead!"
The confession hung in the air like a foul odor.
Dominic froze. He turned his head slowly, staring at his newlywed wife with sheer, unadulterated horror. "What? Chloe... what is she talking about? A senator's daughter? You told me Vivienne was just a temporary mistake!"
"Shut up, you idiot!" Chloe snapped, completely dropping her angelic bride persona. Her face twisted into a mask of pure, venomous hatred as she pointed a manicured finger at me. "Yes! I did it! Because she doesn't belong here! Look at her! She’s a boring, dreary nobody who lucked into marrying my brother just because she trapped him with a baby!"
She turned her furious glare toward my father. "And you! Just because you own this tacky hotel doesn't mean you can bully us! My husband's family has political connections—"
"Your husband's family," Arthur interrupted, his voice cutting through her rant like a razor blade, "is currently bankrupt."
Arthur signaled to another man in his entourage—Marcus, the lead financial auditor for Vance Global. Marcus stepped forward, holding a thick leather-bound folio.
"Bradford Sterling Sr.," Marcus announced loudly, reading from the document. "Your family's real estate holding firm was liquidated by our subsidiary three days ago. Your father's corporate accounts have been frozen due to massive federal tax fraud, and the mansion you grew up in was foreclosed on this morning. As of forty-eight hours ago, your family doesn't have two nickels to rub together."
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Brad turned an alarming shade of purple, grabbed his chest, and collapsed backward into a stack of folding chairs with a loud crash.
The room erupted into absolute chaos. Guests began whispering frantically, pulling out their phones to check stock tickers, news sites, and group chats. The grand wedding reception had transformed in less than ten minutes into a public execution of social climbers.
