The groom’s father shoved past the coordinator, abandoning his drink. He was no longer a composed patriarch; he was a man running for his life.
The mother didn’t wait to see where he went. She sprinted toward the foyer, intercepting her son just as he stepped into the quiet, brightly lit hallway.
He looked perfect. Dark hair, immaculate gray suit, white rose boutonnière.
She lunged. Her hands frantically grabbed his arms and chest, her diamond ring digging into his lapel. Her face was contorted in sheer panic.
“Your father is in there!” she gasped in a frantic, loud whisper, struggling to pull oxygen into her lungs. “With your bride!”
She expected him to shatter. To rage.
Instead, the groom stopped.
The warm, laughing son from the ballroom vanished. His expression went entirely blank—a chilling, emotionless mask. He held her gaze with dead, steady eyes.
“I know,” he said. His voice was flat. Cold as ice.
Her hands dropped. Her eyes widened in absolute horror. The room spun.
“Then stop this wedding, right now!” she screamed in a panicked, commanding whisper.
The groom didn’t blink. He leaned in, his piercing blue eyes completely devoid of humanity.
“Not yet.”
He calmly checked his watch. “That tablet just showed him the private live stream. And the offshore transfers.”
The mother froze.
“He didn’t just steal my fiancé,” the groom whispered, adjusting his tie with surgical precision. “He just violated the morality clause in his CEO contract on camera. The entire board of directors is watching from the front row. The bride gets her payout. I get the company.”
The orchestra struck up the wedding march.
“She was never my bride, Mother. She was bait.” He offered her his arm, flashing a sociopathic smile. “Now dry your tears. Let’s go watch him lose his empire.”
The mother stumbled back, her jaw dropping as sheer terror washed over her. A primal, frantic scream finally tore from her throat as she realized the true monster wasn’t the man in the bridal suite—it was the one standing right in front of her.