Chapter 5 - The Rehearsal Dinner Disaster
Saturday night. The Grand Plaza Hotel.
The main ballroom was breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, tables were draped in fine white linen, and silver candelabras flickered against the mahogany walls. One hundred and fifty elite guests—including prominent business leaders, local politicians, and wealthy relatives—chatted softly while sipping champagne.
At the head table sat Arthur Mercer, his face carved from stone, staring straight ahead with an expression of pure thunder. Beside him sat my mother, nervously smoothing her dress, completely unaware of the explosive trap her daughters had laid.
And then there was Vanessa.
She wore a stunning white designer dress, her hair styled in an elaborate updo, glowing with the frantic energy of a bride who thought she had successfully dodged a bullet.
When Daniel and I walked into the ballroom—holding hands, dressed impeccably, looking calm and relaxed—Vanessa’s smile twitched.
She marched over to us, her heels clicking angrily against the marble floor.
"What are you two doing here?" Vanessa hissed, keeping her voice low so the surrounding guests wouldn't overhear. "Arthur said you orchestrated that whole billing scare with the hotel! If you're here to ruin my rehearsal dinner, I swear to God—"
"Relax, Vanessa," I said, my voice dripping with sweet sarcasm. "It’s just a dinner."
Before she could reply, the microphone at the front of the room tapped twice.
Arthur Mercer stood up from the head table. He didn't pick up a champagne glass. He didn't offer a charming opening joke. He simply gripped the edges of the podium with both hands, his eyes sweeping across the silent ballroom.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Arthur began, his voice cold, sharp, and carrying absolute authority. "Thank you for gathering tonight to celebrate the upcoming marriage of my son, Brandon, to Miss Vanessa Sterling."
Vanessa beamed, taking her seat at the head table.
"However," Arthur continued, his tone turning razor-sharp, "before we partake in the meal, there is a matter of financial integrity that must be addressed publicly."
Vanessa’s smile froze.
"Forty-eight hours ago," Arthur announced, his eyes locking onto Vanessa, "I discovered that my signature had been forged on a commercial catering contract to secure this twenty-thousand-dollar ballroom. A contract submitted by the bride herself, who believed she could spend my corporate capital without my permission."
Gasps erupted across the ballroom. Heads snapped toward the head table.
My mother went sheet-white, dropping her champagne flute. It shattered against the floor with a loud, ringing crash.
Vanessa stood up abruptly, her face turning bright crimson. "Arthur! That's a lie! Maya set me up! She told me she was paying for it!"
"Maya didn't forge my signature, Vanessa," Arthur roared, slamming his hand down on the podium. "You did! And as of five minutes ago, my corporate legal team has filed a formal fraud notice with the venue."
May you like
Arthur turned to the hotel manager standing near the service doors.
"Clear the room," Arthur commanded. "The rehearsal dinner is canceled."
