Chapter 3
"Edward," I said, dropping every single syllable like a rock.
"You literally helped me pull this dress out of that climate-controlled vault," I pushed on. "You looked at the design sketches with me.
"You knew perfectly well that my mom hand-stitched every inch of it.
"So do not stand there and play dumb about which dress she grabbed."
His eyes darted away for a split second, but he covered it up fast.
He let out a harsh laugh. "Yeah, so?
"Your mom has been dead for years.
"It's just an old piece of clothing. Why hoard it in the dark when someone else can actually put it to good use tonight?"
Hearing him brush off my dead mother like that cut deeper than the freezing sea wind.
Something permanent broke inside my chest.
Edward wasn't even done talking.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a bank card and casually flicked it onto the deck right by my feet.
"Alright, drop the tragic face," he demanded. "There's three million on that card.
"I'll have my assistant order ten exact replicas for you tomorrow.
"Can we please wrap up this drama now? We still have a wedding to get through."
His eyes darted down to the broken glass on the floor in pure disgust. "Plus, you almost sliced Isabelle's face open with that stunt.
"Apologize to her right now.
"Then we can go back to reading our vows."
Right on cue, Edward's mom, Marina Grant, popped out of the crowd.
The woman was wearing a heavy, dark purple gown, her face plastered with flawless makeup.
She patted the back of my hand, using this sickeningly sweet voice. "Serena, sweetie, the whole dress thing is just a silly mistake.
"And sure, the picture up there is inappropriate, but hey, it proves you look incredibly hot, right?"
"It's your wedding day. Let's not make a fool of ourselves in front of the guests.
"Just give Isabelle a quick sorry, and we can move on."
That was ridiculous.
My future mother-in-law was staring at a deepfake of me in slutty lingerie and actually hyping up my body.
Isabelle poked her head out from behind Edward again, batting her swollen, teary eyes at me.
"Serena, Edward already paid you for the dress," she whined, making her voice all soft and pouty. "I know I messed up the hem, but I can just run it through the wash and give it back.
You're loaded anyway, so you wouldn't seriously pick a fight with a broke college girl like me over this, right?"
"A broke college girl?" A slow, lazy male voice drifted from the front of the crowd.
The deck was dead quiet, so his voice carried perfectly.
The sea of guests instinctively parted as Castiel Quinn rolled forward in his wheelchair.
He wore a jet-black, tailored suit, though the top two buttons of his dress shirt were popped open.
A string of prayer beads clicked rhythmically between his fingers while he watched the chaos like it was just a boring TV show.
Castiel was the head of the Quinn family.
As the youngest man to ever inherit a corporate empire in Riventon, he was the only man in the business world Edward couldn't beat.
A brutal car crash had destroyed his legs two years ago, trapping him in that chair ever since.
But nobody in their right mind was stupid enough to pity him.
Even sitting down, Castiel was a predator. Everyone else on this deck was just prey.
Edward's face soured the second he spotted him. "Back off, Castiel. This is private."
Castiel ignored him.
His gaze was locked onto Isabelle's wrist.
"If you're really a struggling student, how exactly did you afford a limited-edition, iced-out Van Cleef bracelet?" he asked.
He sounded incredibly casual, like he was making small talk.
"If memory serves, Mr. Grant dropped 2.5 million on that exact piece at Sotheby's last month," he added. "I recall him telling the press it was an exclusive gift for his bride."
Instantly, three hundred pairs of eyes locked onto Isabelle's arm.
Under the lights, the tiny diamonds on the bracelet threw off a dazzling, almost blinding brilliance.
Isabelle panicked, slapping her hand over the jewelry to hide it. "I-it's a knockoff. I bought it online.
"A fake?" Castiel echoed, a low, mocking chuckle escaping his lips while one eyebrow shot up.
"Well, Quinn Group happens to own a luxury appraisal lab," he offered smoothly. "Want me to call an expert down here to verify that? Free of charge."
Isabelle's face went ghostly pale.
She grabbed the hem of Edward's jacket, her knuckles white with panic. "Edward..."
Edward clenched his jaw. "It's my money. I'll give that bracelet to whoever the hell I want," he snapped. "I don't need your two cents, Castiel."
"It's certainly your call," Castiel said, his prayer beads finally clicking to a stop.
His heavy gaze slid away from Edward and landed squarely on me, carrying an intense, unreadable weight.
"I just think some people deserve a hell of a lot better," he said.
Breaking eye contact, he flashed Edward a slow smirk. "Don't let me interrupt the ceremony, Mr. Grant. I'm just here for the show."
He'd said enough.
The knife was in, and he'd twisted it perfectly.
My gaze dropped to the pathetic bank card lying next to my heel.
It drifted up to the trashy, photoshopped billboard still glowing in the night sky.
Finally, I stared at the butchered scraps of my mother's legacy clinging to Isabelle's body.
Then, something crazy happened. All the rage evaporated from my veins.
It was the strangest feeling. It felt like an invisible hand had reached straight into my chest and just flipped my emotional switch to the off position.