Chapter 3 - The Audit of a Bride
By 8:00 AM the following morning, the sun was shining brightly over the California coastline, illuminating the manicured gardens and sparkling infinity pools of the Cliffside Resort.
In the grand presidential suite on the top floor, the atmosphere was chaotic.
Three makeup artists and two hair stylists were moving frantically around Sutton, who sat in a gilded chair in front of a ring light. She was wearing a plush white robe with MRS. PIERCE spelled out in gold rhinestones across the back.
Her eyes were red and puffy from a night of furious crying, but her cheeks were heavily contoured, and her lips were painted a flawless shade of rose.
My mother sat on the silk sofa nearby, clutching a cup of black coffee, her phone glued to her ear.
"He’s still not answering!" Mom hissed, slamming her phone down onto her lap. "I’ve called Alden seven times! His best man, Mark, said Alden didn't even sleep in his room last night!"
"He’s just throwing a tantrum," Sutton snapped, leaning forward so the makeup artist could apply a false eyelash. "Alden gets like this when he feels overwhelmed. He’s an overthinker. Once he sees me in the dress walking down that outdoor aisle, he’ll completely forget about yesterday."
"Sutton, darling," Mom said nervously, adjusting her pearl necklace. "The resort manager called my room at six this morning. She said the police were reviewing the terrace security footage from last night."
Sutton scoffed loudly, waving her hand dismissively. "The police? Please! What are they going to do, arrest me for a prank? Fallon isn't dead. She’s just lying in a hospital room feeling sorry for herself like she always does. Dad talked to the resort manager. He told her we’d handle everything internally."
Before my mother could reply, the double oak doors of the presidential suite swung open.
It wasn't a room-service attendant or a florist.
It was Alden.
He was no longer wearing his ruined tuxedo. He wore a crisp dark grey suit, a black tie, and carried a leather briefcase in his right hand. Standing directly behind him were his parents—Richard and Eleanor Pierce—and his company’s senior corporate legal counsel, a sharp-faced man named Vance.
Sutton’s face lit up instantly. She stood up from her makeup chair, her robe fluttering behind her.
"Alden! Oh my God, babe!" she cried, rushing toward him with her arms open. "I was so worried about you! Where were you?! You missed the morning rehearsal breakfast, and Mom was losing her mind—"
Alden didn't move. He didn't reach out to embrace her. He simply raised his left hand, stopping her three feet short of him.
His left ring finger was bare.
Sutton stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes dropped to his empty hand, the color instantly draining from her face.
"Alden...?" she whispered, her voice faltering. "Where's your ring?"
"The wedding is canceled, Sutton," Alden said.
The room went dead silent. The three makeup artists paused their brushes in mid-air. One of the hair stylists quietly set her curling iron down on the marble vanity.
"What... what did you just say?" My mother stood up from the sofa, her coffee cup shaking violently in her hand. "Alden, have you lost your mind?! The guests are already arriving at the pavilion! The flowers alone cost twenty-two thousand dollars!"
"The wedding is canceled," Alden repeated, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. "The venue has been notified. The catering contract has been terminated. The photographer, the band, and the officiant have all been instructed to pack their equipment and leave the property."
"You can't do that!" Sutton screamed, her voice cracking into a terrifying, high-pitched shriek as she lunged forward. "You can't cancel my wedding! I spent eighteen months planning this! Everyone is here! My friends, my followers, my family!"
"I didn't cancel your wedding, Sutton," Alden replied smoothly, motioning for his lawyer to step forward. "I canceled my wedding. You are more than welcome to put on your dress, stand at the end of that aisle, and entertain your guests by yourself."
Vance, the lawyer, opened his leather briefcase, pulled out a thick stack of legal documents, and laid them on the marble coffee table.
"Mrs. Mercer, Miss Mercer," Vance spoke with cool, devastating precision. "My client, Mr. Alden Pierce, has formally executed a total withdrawal of all financial guarantees associated with this event. Furthermore, we are serving Miss Sutton Mercer with a formal demand for restitution."
My mother gasped. "Restitution?!"
"Yes," Vance continued, flipping to the second page. "Over the past fourteen months, Miss Mercer has made thirty-four unauthorized transactions using Mr. Pierce’s secondary corporate credit account—transactions totaling eighty-six thousand dollars, which she falsely categorized as 'shared household deposits.' In reality, these funds were routed to private luxury styling accounts, personal travel, and unapproved event upgrades."
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Sutton stared at the papers on the table, her chest heaving as if she couldn't catch her breath. "Alden... babe... those were for us! For our future! For our brand!"
"We don't have a brand, Sutton," Alden said, looking at her with an icy, profound disgust. "And as of nine o'clock this morning, we don't have a future."
