Chapter 5 - The Reception Ambush
The reception was supposed to be a modest affair of farm-to-table catering and string lights under a white canvas tent on the estate’s east lawn. Instead, it had instantly transformed into the social event of the decade. News of Alexander Reed hijacking a small-town wedding had leaked to the local press within twenty minutes of the kiss, likely tipped off by catering staff who realized they were serving the man whose face regularly graced the cover of Forbes.
Local reporters and paparazzi were already gathering outside the wrought-iron perimeter gates, their telephoto lenses glinting in the late afternoon sun. Inside the tent, the atmosphere was a bizarre cocktail of electric excitement, hushed gossip, and frantic social climbing. Guests who had barely acknowledged Sophie during the past five years suddenly elbowed their way toward the head table, eager to clink glasses with a billionaire.
Sophie stood by the dessert display, nursing a glass of sparkling water, having swapped her heavy veil for a simple white silk ribbon tied into her dark curls. Her head was spinning. The adrenaline that had carried her down the aisle was beginning to recede, leaving behind an ache of profound exhaustion and the terrifying reality of what she had just done. She had married Alexander Reed. They were bound by public spectacle, if not yet the legal paperwork.
“You look like you’re waiting for the firing squad,” Alex’s voice sounded warmly behind her. He handed her a small plate containing two chocolate-covered strawberries. He had discarded his tuxedo jacket, wearing just the crisp white shirt with the top button undone and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking effortlessly handsome and completely at ease in the chaos.
“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Sophie admitted, taking a strawberry. “Grant isn't the type to crawl into a hole and die quietly. He is spiteful, Alex. When a cornered dog realizes he has nothing left to lose, he bites.”
“He has no teeth left, Sophie,” Alex said smoothly, taking a sip from his scotch glass. “Marcus confirmed the wire transfer twenty minutes ago. My holding company now owns the full master note on Bennett Blooms, along with the personal indemnity bonds Grant signed. He is financially completely incapacitated. If he breathes wrong in this county, I can have his personal bank accounts frozen by court order before sundown.”
Before Sophie could reply, the heavy white drapery at the tent’s entrance was shoved aside violently.
The chatter in the tent died instantly. The music ceased as the violins trailed off into an awkward, screeching halt.
Standing at the entrance was not Grant Holloway.
It was a woman. She was impeccably dressed in a tailored crimson Chanel suit, carrying a diamond-encrusted Birkin bag, with razor-sharp blonde hair and an expression of pure, unadulterated venom. Behind her stood two grim-faced men in dark suits carrying leather briefcases.
Sophie felt the air leave the room. She knew that face from business magazines and social columns.
Victoria Sterling.
Daughter of Arthur Sterling, the hedge-fund magnate who controlled half the shipping ports on the Eastern Seaboard—and, if the rumors from two months ago were true, Alexander Reed’s supposed high-society fiancée.
Victoria marched into the center of the tent, her designer heels clicking rhythmically against the wooden dance floor like the countdown on a time bomb. She didn't look at Sophie. She locked her arctic blue eyes entirely onto Alex.
“What an enchanting little puppet show you’ve put on here, Alexander,” Victoria said, her voice cutting through the silent tent with theatrical elegance. “I thought you said you were flying to Chicago for a port logistics conference this weekend. Imagine my surprise when my father’s PR team called to tell me my fiancé was currently trending on Twitter for playing white knight at a hillbilly florist’s wedding.”
A collective gasp echoed across the marquee. Sophie felt her stomach plummet straight down into an abyss.
Fiancé?
Sophie slowly turned her head to look at Alex. The warmth had vanished from his face, replaced by a wall of impenetrable, icy granite.
“Victoria,” Alex said, his voice deadly quiet. “You shouldn't be here.”
“Oh, I think I definitely should be,” Victoria sneered, finally turning her sharp, venomous gaze toward Sophie, raking her eyes over Sophie’s handmade silk dress with absolute disgust. “So this is the little charity case? The childhood sweetheart you’ve been pining over like a sick puppy? Tell me, sweetie, did he tell you about the merger contract our fathers drafted last month? Did he tell you that Reed Global’s expansion into European ports is contingent on his marriage into the Sterling family?”
May you like
Victoria snapped her fingers, and one of the men behind her pulled a thick manila folder from his briefcase, opening it to reveal crisp legal documents.
“Alexander’s board of directors meets on Tuesday,” Victoria proclaimed, loud enough for every single guest and reporter at the gate to hear. “If he is not married to an approved partner under the Sterling covenant, thirty percent of his voting shares are liquidated under the restructuring clause. You didn't marry a savior, darling. You married a man who just committed corporate suicide for an afternoon of nostalgia. And by tomorrow morning, both of you will be completely ruined.”
