Chapter 2 - The Smallest Trap
Ivy excused herself from the head table without a word to anyone, moving fast, head bowed, one hand pressed flat against the ruined back of her gown.
I gave her a thirty-second head start, then followed at a distance.
She was waiting in the service corridor outside the ballroom when I rounded the corner, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"You switched the chairs," she said, voice shaking with something between fury and disbelief. "You did that on purpose."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, keeping my tone as flat and pleasant as if we were discussing the weather.
"Don't play games with me." Her eyes narrowed. "I know exactly what you are. You're a bitter old man who can't stand the fact that his precious son chose somebody else."
I studied her for a moment, unbothered.
"Ivy. Who do you think owns Bellmore Estate?"
She blinked, thrown off.
"And the office building where Preston's company signs its lease renewal every January?" I let the silence stretch a beat longer. "And the trust that quietly covered the cost of your engagement ring?"
Something shifted across her face — not anger this time. Something closer to real fear.
"You're lying."
"The venue manager has my signature on the ownership documents. Feel free to ask him yourself."
She took a step back, bumping into the wall.
"Preston would have told me that."
"Preston doesn't know everything about me." I reached into my jacket and drew out a folded document. "But his lawyer will, first thing Monday morning."
Her eyes dropped to the paper in my hand.
"What is that?"
I didn't answer.
May you like
Behind us, the ballroom doors swung open. Preston stepped into the corridor, champagne flute still in hand, smile still plastered on from the toasts — until he saw our faces and it slid right off.
"Dad?" His eyes flicked between us. "What's going on out here?"
