At my own wedding, my parents had to stand because my husband’s family took every seat. When I protested, his mother snapped, “They don’t belong here,” and my husband s:lapp:ed me in front of more than 80 guests.

"Who gave you permission to disrupt my son’s wedding?" Florence’s shrill voice cut through the silence as she hurried down the curved marble staircase, trying desperately to regain control of the room. "Security! Where is security? Escort these trespassers off the premises immediately!"

Two private security guards hired for the venue stepped forward, but when they saw the federal security badges displayed on the lapels of Lucas’s detail, they froze in their tracks.

"Step back," one of Lucas’s men commanded quietly. The guards didn't hesitate; they stepped aside.

Christopher followed his mother down the stairs, putting on his best boardroom face, though sweat had begun to bead at his hairline.

"Lucas, right? Giselle’s brother," Christopher said, offering a tight, patronizing hand. "Look, we understand you work out of town, but this is a private family affair. We were just concluding a private family agreement."

Lucas didn't take the hand. He didn't even look at it.

Instead, his gaze drifted to my face. To the thin layer of makeup covering the swollen bruise on my cheek.

Lucas’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched beneath his skin.

"Did you touch my sister?" Lucas asked. The question was quiet, smooth, and deadlier than an unsheathed blade.

Christopher laughed nervously, glancing around at his peers. "We had a minor domestic disagreement. Emotions run high on wedding days. Giselle was being unreasonable regarding seating arrangements—"

*Smack.*

The sound was sharp, heavy, and reverberated off the stone walls.

Lucas hadn't slapped him. He had backhanded Christopher with such terrifying speed and concussive force that Christopher spun around, lost his footing, and crashed into a glass pedestal holding a towering arrangement of white lilies.

The pedestal shattered. Christopher landed hard on his side among broken glass and wet floral foam, clutching his bleeding nose in disbelief.

"Christopher!" Florence shrieked, rushing forward. "Are you insane?! You savage! You're going to prison for this! Judge Caldwell, you witnessed this! Arrest this man!"

Judge Caldwell didn't move an inch. He adjusted his glasses and looked down at Christopher with profound distaste.

"I witnessed a brother intervening against a known fraudster," the judge replied calmly. "And frankly, Mrs. Delacroix, if I were you, I’d be much more concerned with your son's financial status than his nose."

Christopher hauled himself up, his designer tuxedo smeared with dirt and flower water. "What... what are you talking about?"

Lucas raised a finger. His attorney, Marcus, immediately opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of blue-bound legal dockets.

"Delacroix Shipping and Logistics," Lucas announced to the entire room of eighty guests, his voice clear, calm, and terrifyingly precise. "Three consecutive years of negative cash flow. Debts exceeding fourteen million dollars to the Savannah Port Authority. Default notices issued thirty days ago on your family estate on Isle of Hope."

Gasps erupted among the Delacroix cousins. Florence’s face drained of color until she looked like a ghost.

"That's a lie!" Florence stammered. "Our family has been solvent for over a century!"

"Your family has been insolvent for eighteen months," Lucas continued, stepping forward until he stood towering over Christopher. "You used shell entities to take out predatory high-interest bridge loans. And when your creditors threatened foreclosure this month, you hatched a scheme."

Lucas pulled a document from the docket and held it up for the crowd to see.

"You targeted my sister. You thought that because Samuel Vance drives an old Ford truck and lives in Bryan County, he was an illiterate redneck with four hundred acres of worthless mud."

Lucas tossed the paper onto Christopher’s chest. It fluttered down, stained with water.

"You drew up an unauthorized land conveyance deed. You even paid a corrupt clerk twenty thousand dollars to pre-file a fraudulent intent-to-transfer document bearing my father's forged signature."

Christopher looked at the paper. His hands began to shake violently.

"How... how do you have this?" Christopher choked out.