Chapter 6 - The Counter-Strike
The cliffside amphitheater at Hollow Crest Resort was breathtaking. Overlooking the crashing turquoise waves of the Pacific, the venue was a sea of white roses, cascading ivy, and draped silk. Two hundred elite guests—wealthy developers, prominent local politicians, and high-society associates of my parents—sat in rows of white folding chairs under a brilliant afternoon sun.
At the altar stood my father Stellin, looking impeccably dressed in a custom Tom Ford tuxedo, though beads of nervous sweat glistened on his forehead. Beside him stood Althia, whose frozen, pageant-queen smile looked like it had been glued to her face with industrial adhesive.
And then there was Sutton.
Clad in a ten-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown that swept regally across the manicured lawn, she stood waiting for a groom who was currently sitting in a black medical transport van parked just outside the resort gates.
The string quartet struck up the bridal march.
The double doors at the back of the amphitheater opened.
Instead of Alden walking down the aisle with a nervous grin, the heavy oak doors swung completely wide to reveal a sleek, military-grade titanium wheelchair rolling smoothly down the central carpeted runner.
Seated in the chair was me.
My right leg, encased in its stark white fiberglass cast, was propped out straight on a cushioned extension. I wore a sharp, midnight-blue bespoke blazer, my hair pulled back into a severe, elegant knot, and dark aviator sunglasses that concealed the lingering exhaustion in my eyes. Pushing the wheelchair with quiet, relentless precision was Vesper, looking like an executioner attending a coronation.
Behind us, trailing like a quiet legal escort, were two uniformed county sheriff’s deputies whom Vesper had enlisted along the way.
A collective gasp rippled through the seated crowd. Necks craned. Whispers erupted like static electricity.
“Good lord, is that the older sister?” someone murmured in the third row.
“Weren’t she and the bride in an accident yesterday? Why is she in a wheelchair?”
Althia’s frozen smile instantly shattered. Her face drained of color, turning a pasty, sickly gray. She took two sharp steps down the altar stairs, her hands clawing at the air.
“Fallon!” Althia hissed, her voice carrying sharply across the silent lawn despite her attempt at a whisper. “What is the meaning of this? Security! Remove her from this property immediately! She’s ruined enough!”
I raised a single hand, signaling Vesper to stop the wheelchair right at the base of the floral-covered altar. I removed my sunglasses and looked straight up at my mother, whose manicured fingers were now trembling violently.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” I said, my voice amplified clearly by the clip-on lapel mic Vesper had discreetly attached to my lapel. “Please, take your seats. We have a very important family announcement to make before the ceremony proceeds.”
Sutton dropped her bouquet. The cascading white roses hit the grass with a dull thud.
“Fallon, you psycho!” Sutton shrieked, marching down the altar steps toward me, her veil trailing behind her like smoke. “You absolute bitch! You’re trying to ruin my wedding just because you’re jealous! Security, drag her out of here!”
May you like
Before Sutton could reach me, Vesper stepped smoothly between us, holding up a thick leather binder like a shield.
“I wouldn't touch her, Miss Sterling,” Vesper said coolly, her voice ringing out across the entire amphitheater. “Unless you want an additional charge of assault added to your growing list of legal grievances.”
