Their emails were almost laughably arrogant.
Once you’re married, she won’t fight you.
Make sure she signs before the honeymoon.
After Europe, we can deal with the house.
The “house” belonged to me.
So did the investment account Derek had already promised would fund Patricia’s retirement.
I quietly contacted my attorney, bank, and the fraud department.
They instructed me not to confront him until they finished documenting the attempted transactions.
Today was supposed to be the final day I pretended not to know.
Derek had simply moved the timeline forward.
Lena uploaded the recording from my dress.
“Clear audio,” she said.
A pounding knock hit the door.
“Claire!”
Derek.
Another knock.
“Open the damn door.”
I started recording on my phone too.
“I need ten minutes.”
“You’ve had enough time.”
Patricia joined him outside.
“This is ridiculous. Guests are waiting.”
Then Derek said something that erased whatever doubt I had left.
“If she thinks she can ruin today, remind her whose house she’s coming home to tonight.”
Patricia laughed.
My stomach turned cold.
Lena stared at me.
“They think the house is his?”
“They think everything is his.”
I opened my email, forwarded the latest recording to my attorney, and sent one text.
Proceed.
Thirty seconds later, my attorney answered.
Security and officers are outside. Your bank confirmed the fraudulent credit application this morning. Do not leave alone.
I exhaled.
Then opened the door.
Derek stood there furious, Patricia behind him.
“You done performing?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I walked past him toward the ballroom.
He grabbed my wrist again.
This time, I didn’t pull away.
I wanted people to notice.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to our guests.”
His expression softened.
He thought I had surrendered.
Patricia smirked.
“That’s better.”
I returned to the head table and picked up the microphone.
The DJ lowered the music.
Two hundred faces turned toward me.
Derek settled into his chair, looking satisfied.
He raised his champagne.
“Finally.”
I looked directly at my new husband.
