Chapter 3 - The Cold Aisle
Florence stood in the hallway, looking like a vision in pure ivory lace. Her custom Vera Wang gown hugged her slender frame, her veil cascading down her back like spun silk. In her hands, she held a bouquet of rare white orchids.
Her face was a picture of perfect, worried devotion.
"Jonathan!" she gasped, placing a delicate, soft hand over her heart. "There you are! My goodness, you scared me. Why were you locked inside? The priest is waiting—"
Her eyes suddenly drifted down to Leo, who was hiding behind my leg, clutching the fabric of my trousers.
For a fraction of a second, Florence’s left eyelid twitched. A flash of pure, murderous venom flickered in her eyes before she forced a bright, maternal smile onto her lips.
"Oh! Little Leo!" Florence squealed softly, kneeling down in her massive wedding dress. "Sweetheart, what are you doing here? I thought your mommy took you home because she wasn't feeling well?"
Leo buried his face deeper into my leg, trembling.
"He came to bring me something," I said, my voice dead level, stripped of all warmth.
Florence paused, looking up at me. Her sharp blue eyes searched my face, trying to read the sudden change in my posture.
"Bring you something?" she laughed nervously, standing up and smoothing her gown. "What could a three-year-old possibly bring you right before our wedding? A lucky penny?"
"Something like that," I said, forcing my lips into a tight, practiced smile. "Florence, where is Christina right now?"
Florence let out a soft, sympathetic sigh, shaking her head. "Oh, darling, I told you. She texted me two hours ago. She has that terrible migraine again. You know how sensitive she is to loud music and big crowds. She was so heartbroken that she couldn't make it, but she sent her love."
Liar.
The word screamed inside my head. The image of Christina’s bleeding forehead flashed across my mind. I wanted to wrap my hands around Florence’s neck right then and there. But I forced myself to remain motionless.
If I called the police right now, Florence’s high-priced defense lawyers would post bail within hours. She would destroy documents, wipe offshore servers, and disappear with the millions she had already funneled out of my company.
I needed her to feel completely secure. I needed her to walk into the trap she had built for me.
"I see," I said slowly. "Well, we shouldn't keep our guests waiting, should we?"
Florence’s face lit up with immediate relief. She stepped closer, reaching out to adjust my silk bow tie. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment, Jonathan. I love you so much."
"I know you do, Florence," I replied, staring directly into her eyes. "More than I could ever comprehend."
Two minutes later, the double doors of the grand ballroom swung open.
The crowd of 120 high-society guests rose to their feet, applauding as the organist struck up the wedding march. Florence took my arm, leaning her head affectionately against my shoulder as we walked down the white runner toward the altar.
Cameras flashed. Society reporters snapped photos. The room was bathed in the warm glow of crystal chandeliers and thousands of white roses.
To everyone in that room, it was a fairytale wedding between a powerful mogul and his devoted young bride.
As we reached the altar, the officiant—a venerable judge who had been a personal friend of mine for twenty years—smiled warmly at us.
"Dearly beloved," the judge began, his voice echoing through the acoustics of the hall. "We are gathered here today to unite Jonathan Vance Sterling and Florence Elizabeth Vance in the holy bonds of matrimony..."
I stood at the altar, feeling Florence’s hand resting gently in mine. Her palm was cool, steady, without a single tremor of guilt.
"Jonathan," the judge said, looking at me over his half-moon glasses. "Do you take Florence Elizabeth to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
The entire ballroom went silent, waiting for my response.
Florence turned to face me, her eyes glistening with fake, beautiful tears of joy. She held her breath, waiting for the words that would seal her control over my life and my fortune.
I looked at her. I looked at the man standing in the front row—Julian Vance, my younger stepbrother and the chief financial officer of Sterling Global.
I caught Julian’s eye. He was sweating profusely, continuously wiping his neck with a silk handkerchief.
In that single second, another piece of the puzzle snapped into place.
Florence hadn't acted alone. She needed an insider to bypass my corporate firewalls and grant her access to my private accounts.
Julian. My own stepbrother.
I turned back to the officiant.
"Jonathan?" the judge prompted gently, assuming I was simply overcome with emotion. "Do you take this woman?"
May you like
I took a deep breath.
"Judge," I spoke into the lapel microphone, my voice echoing clearly into every corner of the ballroom. "Before I answer that question, I have a special presentation I’d like to make for my bride."
