Chapter 2 - THE WEDDING DELAY

Ethan did not answer the wedding coordinator immediately. He looked at Melissa Grant’s frantic, expectant face, then down at little Lily, who was still clutching her stuffed rabbit as if it were a life preserver. The cheerful strains of the string quartet drifting from the chapel suddenly sounded grotesque, like carnival music playing over a disaster.

“Tell them to wait,” Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave, devoid of its usual warmth.

Melissa blinked, her clipboard slipping slightly in her grip. “I’m sorry? Ethan, the guests are seated. The bishop is at the altar. Vivian is completely ready and—”

“Tell them there is a delay,” Ethan cut in, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. It was the voice that had dismantled rival corporate boards and ended multi-million-dollar negotiations in seconds. “Hold the procession. Do not let anyone start the march.”

Before Melissa could stammer a reply, Ethan turned on his heel. He didn’t head toward the chapel. He walked briskly back toward the sprawling limestone mansion.

Rachel caught up with him, her heels clicking rapidly against the flagstone path. “Ethan! Where are you going?”

“To the bridal suite,” he said, not breaking stride.

“You can’t see the bride before the wedding!” Rachel warned, though she sounded more anxious than superstitious. “And what are you going to say to her? You don’t have proof. You have the word of a four-year-old and my three seconds of a questionable hallway encounter.”

“I’m going to look my future wife in the eye,” Ethan said coldly. “I’ve spent twenty years reading people who want my money, Rachel. I’ll know if she’s lying.”

He bypassed the grand staircase and took the private service elevator, the one the staff used, emerging on the second floor. The corridor leading to the master suite was lined with white orchids and bustling with makeup artists and bridesmaids. When Ethan appeared, the chatter died instantly.

“Ethan?” one of the bridesmaids gasped. “You aren’t supposed to be here!”

“Everyone out,” Ethan commanded.

The women hesitated, exchanging bewildered glances. Ethan didn't raise his voice, but his presence filled the hallway like a thunderhead. “Now. Give us a moment.”

They scuttled out, leaving Ethan alone in front of the heavy oak door. He turned the brass handle and stepped inside.

Vivian Sterling stood in the center of the room, surrounded by an ocean of white silk and French lace. She was undeniably breathtaking. Her blonde hair was pinned in an intricate, flawless sweep; her makeup was immaculate. But when she saw Ethan, the picture-perfect smile vanished, replaced by a flash of sheer, unadulterated annoyance.

“What on earth are you doing in here?” she snapped, checking her reflection in the full-length mirror. “You’re ruining the timeline, Ethan. Melissa just texted me that you delayed the march. What is wrong with you?”

Ethan closed the door slowly until it clicked shut. The silence in the room was heavy.

“I had an interesting conversation just now,” Ethan began, his eyes fixed on her face, watching for the slightest micro-expression. “With little Lily. Nora’s daughter.”

Vivian froze. It was barely perceptible—a tightening of her jaw, a sudden stillness in her shoulders—but Ethan saw it. When she turned to face him, the annoyance had been plastered over with a mask of patronizing concern.

“The maid’s child?” Vivian asked, waving a manicured hand dismissively. “Ethan, darling, why are you talking to the staff's children ten minutes before our wedding? You know how those people are. They just want attention.”

“Those people,” Ethan repeated quietly.

“You’re far too generous with them,” Vivian sighed, moving toward him with outstretched arms. “You let them roam the estate like they own it. I was just telling the head housekeeper yesterday that we need a stricter boundary. Now, come on, you’re just having cold feet—”

Ethan stepped back, avoiding her touch. “Lily told me you hurt her mother. She said you grab her. She said Nora cries in the laundry room.”

The temperature in the room plummeted. Vivian’s eyes narrowed, the gracious, charitable socialite vanishing in a heartbeat. The woman standing before him looked sharp, predatory, and cornered.

“You are delaying our wedding,” Vivian hissed, her voice vibrating with venom, “over the fabricated lies of a toddler? Her mother probably coached her to do it, hoping for a payout. I’ve caught that Nora girl snooping in my things twice this week, Ethan. I was going to fire her tomorrow anyway.”

“Rachel saw you,” Ethan said softly. “She saw you grab Nora by the arm on Wednesday. You cornered her.”

Vivian’s face flushed red, a crack in the porcelain. “Your sister has hated me since day one! She’s jealous of me, Ethan. She’s feeding you lies to ruin this day. Are you really going to humiliate me in front of three hundred of the most powerful people in the state over a delusional sister and a greedy maid?”

Ethan didn’t need to hear anything else. Her defense wasn't confusion or shock; it was an immediate, calculated character assassination of three different people.

“Don't leave this room,” Ethan said, turning his back on her.