Chapter 4 - The Proof in the Picture
Vanessa’s eyes darted down to the glowing screen. The first image was a high-resolution photograph taken from the local newspaper’s obituary section: Adrian Parker, 29, Tragic Highway Accident Leaves Community Mourning.
Beside it was the funeral program, featuring Adrian’s smiling headshot and a Bible verse chosen by Colleen.
Below that was a picture taken four months ago at my bridal shop—Adrian laughing, his arms wrapped around my waist, kissing my cheek while I held the preliminary sample of this exact orchid bouquet. He was wearing the identical charcoal suit, his watch catching the light—the same vintage Omega watch currently ticking on his wrist downstairs.
Vanessa took a step back, her back hitting the vanity mirror with a sharp clatter of perfume bottles. "What... what kind of sick joke is this? Who are you?"
"My name is Meredith Cole," I said, my voice steady, sharp, and terrifyingly calm. "I am Adrian’s fiancé. Or rather, I was, until he staged his fiery death to cash out a two-million-dollar insurance policy and erase the eighty thousand dollars of debt he dumped into my bank accounts."
"No," Vanessa stammered, shaking her head violently as tears began welling in her eyes. "No! Adrian loves me! He told me he had an ex-girlfriend who was crazy and stalking him, but—"
"Does a stalker have the deed to his previous vehicle?" I asked, swiping to another folder. "Does a stalker have text messages from his personal phone from the morning of his crash, telling me he couldn't wait to see me walk down the aisle in our dress? Does a stalker have the joint credit card statements showing that his wedding ring was purchased with my business savings account?"
Vanessa stared at the screen, her chest heaving as she read the dates, the affectionate messages, and the itemized receipts. The dates did not lie. He had proposed to her two weeks after my supposed fiancé had been declared dead.
"He lied to me," Vanessa gasped, clutching her throat. Her face had completely drained of color, her breath coming in ragged, hyperventilating gasps. "My father gave him a four-million-dollar commercial line of credit yesterday. He told my father his family had inherited a generational trust fund from his late uncle!"
"The only trust fund he inherited was the life insurance payout his mother claimed on his burned corpse," I said. "And Colleen is downstairs right now, wearing the mother-of-the-groom corsage I made this morning."
Vanessa covered her mouth, sinking down onto the velvet dressing chair as her cathedral veil tumbled over her shoulders. The realization hit her with the force of an avalanche.
May you like
"What do we do?" she whispered, looking up at me through tear-stained lashes. "My father has three hundred guests in the grand ballroom. Half of the state senate is sitting out there. If I cancel this, the scandal will destroy our family reputation."
"You aren't going to cancel it, Miss Vance," I said, leaning in close with a cold, triumphant smile. "You are going to let the ceremony begin. And you are going to let me deliver the flowers to the altar."
