Vivian’s fiancé, Daniel, appeared at the far end of the hallway, boutonniere crooked, jaw tight. “What’s happening?”
Vivian rushed to him, tears appearing on cue. “Claire is sabotaging us. She’s jealous because no one wants to look at her today.”
Daniel looked at me with his usual lazy contempt. “Pay the bill, Claire. Don’t make this ugly.”
I almost laughed.
For two years, I had watched him wear fake watches and real arrogance. He called himself an entrepreneur, which really meant three failed apps, one rented sports car, and a talent for convincing Vivian that debt was ambition.
“You should talk to your bride,” I said. “She just banned me from the photos I paid for.”
Daniel smirked. “Maybe she has standards.”
That was enough.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just a quiet click in my mind.
I took out my phone and called Marisol, the venue manager. Vivian lunged toward me, but Mark stepped in front of her without touching her.
Marisol answered on the second ring. “Claire, everything okay?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Please pause all services connected to the Beaumont wedding until I arrive at the office.”
Vivian shrieked, “You can’t do that!”
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