"My fiancé slapped me at our wedding over two chairs—5 minutes later, my brother exposed why he forged my dad's signature."

"Hallie!" Cameron’s voice snapped, losing its smooth polish, turning sharp and arrogant. "Open this door right now! My mother is waiting! Do you have any idea how much this venue cost?!"

I wiped my face with a damp cloth, straightened my spine, and looked at the wedding coordinator, a composure-filled woman named Claire.

"Claire," I said calmly. "Is the side exit through the catering kitchen unlocked?"

"Yes, Miss Vance," Claire answered instantly, her eyes full of fierce, quiet solidarity. "And I’ve already instructed my staff to lock the main ceremony doors. Your guests are starting to ask questions, but I told them there is a technical delay."

"Good. Keep them locked."

I walked up to the heavy suite door, reached out, and unlocked the brass bolt.

I didn't open it all the way. I pulled it open six inches, standing squarely in the gap.

Cameron stood in the hallway wearing his charcoal tuxedo, his hair immaculately slicked back, his silk boutonnieres pinned to his lapel. Beside him stood his mother, Patricia, looking resplendent in a champagne-colored lace gown, holding a glass of sparkling wine.

When Cameron saw my face under the bright hallway lights—specifically the swollen red bruise along my jawline—he didn't look remorseful. His dark eyes flicked over the injury with a cold, calculating detachment.

"You look ridiculous," Cameron muttered under his breath, stepping forward to push the door open. "Put some powder on that cheek and get out there. The minister is ready."

"Touch this door again, Cameron, and I’ll have you arrested for assault before you reach the altar," I said, my voice steady, low, and terrifyingly clear.

Patricia let out a soft, mocking laugh, taking a delicate sip of her wine. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Hallie. Cameron merely corrected your tone. You were being disrespectful to me in front of my closest friends. A wife needs to know her place."

"Your 'closest friends' are sitting in my parents' reserved seats, Patricia," I replied, looking her straight in the eyes. "And you’re standing here because you think you just pulled off a three-million-dollar land heist."

Patricia’s smile froze. The wine glass in her hand wobbled slightly.

Cameron’s eyes narrowed into dark, dangerous slits. "What are you talking about?"

"The Apex Heritage Holdings deed," I revealed cleanly, holding up my smartphone to display the forged signature. "You forged my name as a witness on my father's land transfer, Cameron. You brought it to the rehearsal dinner and tried to trick him into signing away ninety-two acres."

Cameron’s face went paper-white for a fraction of a second, before a sneer contorted his features.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Cameron snapped, taking a step closer, lowering his voice into a vicious whisper. "Your father is an old, uneducated mechanic who doesn't even know what his land is worth. We’re turning that woods into a commercial shopping center. He was going to get a small check, and you were going to get this wedding. You should be thanking my mother."

"My father worked forty years to keep that land in our family," I spat back. "And you’re a thief."

"Who do you think people are going to believe, Hallie?" Patricia interjected smoothly, her voice dripping with venomous confidence. "My son is a senior executive at Vance-Moretti. Your father drives a rusted pickup truck. You signed that document. If you try to fight this, we'll tell the bank you were in on it from the beginning."

Before I could answer, heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed down the grand marble hallway behind them.