Chapter 2 - The Unraveling at the Reception
The standing ovation lasted for nearly three minutes before the bishop was able to resume the ceremony.
Standing hand-in-hand with Liam at the altar, I didn't hear a single word of the traditional Latin blessings. My mind was crystal clear. For my entire life, I had been the quiet, obedient daughter—the girl who stepped into the background so Chloe could shine, the daughter who accepted my mother's harsh criticisms about my weight, my quiet demeanor, and eventually, my illness.
When we exchanged rings, Liam slid a bespoke platinum band onto my finger, leaned down, and kissed me deeply. The crowd cheered once more, but as we turned to walk back up the aisle as husband and wife, I caught the furious glare of my father, Richard Sterling.
The reception took place in the St. Regis Plaza Ballroom, a magnificent glass-domed room filled with towering ice sculptures, champagne fountains, and a thirty-piece orchestra.
While guests flooded around Liam and me to offer emotional congratulations, my family retreated to a private booth in the corner of the room like wounded animals plotting a counterattack.
"Valeria, step over here right now," my mother, Victoria, hissed as she intercepted me near the dessert station. She dragged me by my elbow into a quiet, velvet-draped alcove away from the press.
Chloe and my father followed immediately behind her.
"How dare you?" Victoria spat, her eyes flashing with uncontrolled fury beneath her thick layer of foundation. "How dare you pull a cheap, attention-seeking stunt like that at a five-million-dollar event paid for by your father and the Vances?!"
"A stunt?" I asked, looking at my mother with a quiet, icy detached amusement.
"You humiliated this family!" my father boomed in a harsh whisper, leaning over me. "The Sterling name is built on elegance, decorum, and perfection! You walked out there looking like a cancer patient playing dress-up! You made us look like savages who couldn't even afford a proper wig for our daughter!"
"I am a cancer patient, Dad," I replied, staring him dead in the eye. "I lost my hair because I was trying to stay alive. Why does that make you ashamed?"
"It’s about propriety!" Chloe chimed in, her voice shrill, her cheeks red with jealousy. "You knew the press was taking photos! You did it on purpose to get pity! You used your sickness to manipulate Liam into making a big scene so nobody would notice how plain you are!"
I looked at my sister. The velvet box containing my wig was probably sitting in a trash chute somewhere in the hotel suite, discarded by her own hands.
"Chloe," I said softly, stepping closer to her. "Where is my wig?"
Chloe blinked, taken aback by my directness, but quickly recovered her sneer. "How should I know? You probably misplaced it because your brain is scrambled from all those drugs."
"I know you hid it," I said. "I saw you step out from behind the wardrobe right after Mom left the room. You told me to my face that you hid it so I would look like a 'sick rat.'"
My mother gasped, though not at Chloe. "Valeria, stop lying! Chloe would never do such a thing! She has been nothing but supportive of you throughout your entire illness!"
"Has she?" a deep voice rang out.
The velvet curtain of the alcove was pulled back. Liam stood there, holding two glasses of vintage champagne, accompanied by two large men in dark tailored suits—the head of St. Regis security and Liam's personal attorney, Arthur Vance.
"Liam," my mother instantly smoothed her dress, shifting into her sweet, high-society persona. "Darling, we were just discussing how overwhelmed Valeria must be—"
"I heard everything," Liam interrupted, his voice dropping into a tone that sent a chill through the air. "In fact, I’ve been listening for the last three minutes."
Liam handed his champagne glass to his attorney and stepped directly between my father and me.
"Mr. Sterling," Liam said, looking at my father. "You just mentioned that this wedding was paid for by you and my family. Allow me to correct you. My family covered ninety-five percent of the bill. The remaining five percent—the deposit for the floral arrangements—was paid using a corporate credit card belonging to Sterling Enterprises."
My father stiffened. "That is an internal business matter—"
"It was an internal business matter," Arthur Vance, the attorney, stepped forward, opening a leather dossier. "Until forty-five minutes ago, when Vance Maritime Logistics completed its audit of the joint-venture logistics contract we signed with Sterling Enterprises last spring."
My mother looked confused. "What does a business contract have to do with my daughter's wedding?"
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"It means," Liam said, turning his gaze slowly toward Chloe, "that while Valeria was undergoing her final cycle of radiation six weeks ago, your husband and your golden daughter were systematically embezzling three point two million dollars from the joint-venture escrow account to cover the bad investments Chloe made in her failed fashion line in Milan."
The air in the alcove froze. Chloe turned white as chalk.
