Chapter 5 - The Public Humiliation At The Oceanfront Resort
The audio echoed off the ocean waves, looping the chilling sound of Sutton’s voice through the amphitheater speakers for all three hundred elite guests to digest.
Sutton stared up at the giant screen in sheer horror, her hands flying to cover her face as a chorus of murmurs, gasps, and outright boos erupted from the crowd. High-society acquaintances who had fawned over her just hours before now turned their backs, whispering behind designer fans and walking briskly toward the resort gates.
“Turn that off! Turn it off right now!” Althia shrieked, lunging toward the audio technician booth, only to be blocked by the county sheriff deputy. She spun around, tears of humiliation streaming down her face, and pointed a trembling finger directly at me. “You did this! You plotted against your own flesh and blood! You ruined her special day out of pure, jealous spite!”
“No, Althia,” a calm, steady voice echoed from the side entrance of the courtyard.
The crowd parted. Alden walked into the amphitheater.
He wasn't wearing a tuxedo. Instead, he wore a simple navy blazer and open-collared shirt, looking more relaxed and resolute than I had ever seen him. He held a thick manila folder in his hand and walked straight past my sputtering parents, stopping a few feet away from my wheelchair.
Sutton dropped her hands from her face, her eyes widening with desperate hope. “Alden! Thank goodness! You came back! Tell them all this is a sick joke! Tell them we’re getting married right now!”
Alden looked up at her, his expression entirely devoid of emotion. Not anger, not sadness—just profound, chilling indifference.
“I’m not getting married to you, Sutton,” Alden said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent courtyard. “Not today, not ever. I spent the entire night reviewing our joint finances, and I discovered that not only did you steal Fallon’s eighty-five thousand dollars for this resort, but you also took out three secret credit cards in my name, maxed them out on designer clothes, and lied about paying off our venue deposit.”
Sutton’s breath hitched. “That’s… that’s a lie! You’re just listening to her! She’s brainwashing you!”
“The bank statements don't lie, Sutton,” Alden replied coldly, tossing a copy of the financial records onto the steps right at her feet. “And neither does the police report I filed an hour ago. You’re facing felony fraud charges, and the resort management has already cancelled your reception contract due to non-payment and bounced wires.”
The resort manager, who had been standing anxiously near the back, stepped forward with a clipboard in hand. “Mr. Althiser is correct. Until the eighty-five thousand dollars wired from Ms. Fallon’s corporate account is fully refunded and all outstanding balances are settled, this property is placing a total lien on all wedding gifts, designer gowns, and rented equipment currently on site.”
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Althia let out a loud, theatrical gasp and collapsed dramatically onto a cushioned lounge chair, fanning herself with her hand while calling out for smelling salts. Stellin stood frozen like a statue, completely abandoned by the high-society illusion he had spent decades trying to maintain.
Sutton looked around wildly, realizing with absolute terror that her empire of manipulation had finally collapsed. There were no cameras left to glorify her tears; there were only federal marshals waiting to execute a warrant, a canceled wedding, and a family legacy exposed in all its toxic glory.
