Chapter 2 - The Fire at the CathedralCoraline looked down at the platinum band resting in my hand.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She took the ring with two manicured fingers, slipping it into her silk clutch, her sharp face settling into a mask of pure, razor-sharp malice.
"Your mother is going to destroy you for this, Garrett," Coraline warned softly, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy whisper. "She spent three years building this alliance. She won't let a penniless ex-wife and a child stand in her way."
"My mother destroyed herself the day she touched my family," I replied flatly.
Coraline turned her sharp eyes toward Mave, taking in Mave's faded coat, her wet hair, and the plastic folder pressed tightly against her chest.
"You think you're saving her, Garrett?" Coraline sneered, stepping back toward her luxury town car. "Ask your precious Mave what's inside that plastic folder she's holding. Ask her why she came to Fifth Avenue today of all days."
I froze.
Coraline offered one final, mocking smile, turned on her heel, and stepped into her car. The sleek vehicle accelerated down Fifth Avenue, splashing rain across the curb, leaving us standing alone in the downpour.
I turned back to Mave.
Mave stood near the stone steps of a commercial building, clutching two-year-old Posie tightly against her chest. Her face was paper-white, her hazel eyes wide with a sudden, sweating panic as she looked at the plastic folder in her hands.
"Mave," I spoke softly, taking two steps toward her, my hand reaching out to touch Posie’s small, warm shoulder. "What is inside that folder?"
Posie looked at me, her winter-gray eyes shining with pure innocence. She reached out one tiny, gloved hand, gently touching my wet lapel. "Dada?" she whispered softly.
The word hit my chest like a physical blow. Tears burned behind my eyes, a wave of profound, fierce love washing over every corner of my soul as I looked down at my daughter for the first time in my life.
Mave let out a ragged, choking breath, her hands shaking violently as she handed the plastic folder to me.
"I didn't come to Fifth Avenue to ruin your wedding, Garrett," Mave confessed, her voice cracking into raspy, desperate fragments. "I came because three days ago... your mother’s private security detail found our apartment in Boston. They served me with emergency legal papers... attempting to terminate my parental rights and claim sole custody of Posie for the Hail Family Trust."
A dark, apocalyptic fury—a rage I had never known I possessed—ignited in my blood, burning away every lingering trace of hesitation.
My mother hadn't just blackmailed Mave three years ago. She had been tracking my ex-wife, waiting for Posie to reach two years old, preparing to snatch my daughter away from her mother to raise her as a puppet heir inside the Hail estate.
"Wesley!" I bellowed over the rain, my voice echoing off the stone walls of St. Patrick's Cathedral like thunder.
Wesley ran across the street immediately, holding his umbrella over us, his posture straight as iron. "Yes, Don Garrett?"
"Take Mave and Posie to my private penthouse on 57th Street," I commanded flatly, every word dropped like a slab of cold granite. "Deploy twenty secondary security operators around the building. Nobody enters without my personal authorization."
"Understood, sir," Wesley nodded reverently. "And what about the five hundred guests inside the cathedral, Mr. Hail?"
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I looked at the grand bronze doors of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where the organ music was beginning to swell, blissfully unaware that the groom had walked away.
"Tell my mother," I declared, my winter-gray eyes flashing with a cold, lethal fire, "that I am coming to the reception to give her my blessing."
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