The next thing I knew, I was waking up to the harsh, sterile smell of an ER room, blinding fluorescent lights, and the steady beep of a heart monitor. I had a concussion, a split lip, and a deep, throbbing ache in my skull.

The nurse told me I needed to stay for observation, but the sheer adrenaline and betrayal coursing through my veins wouldn’t let me sit still. I refused to let them sweep this under the rug while they celebrated a wedding funded by my blood and money. Against medical advice, I discharged myself, threw a trench coat over my ruined navy dress, and took an Uber straight back to the venue.

When I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the ballroom, a few guests gasped. My lip was swollen, and I was holding a medical ice pack to my jaw. My father was standing near the head table, laughing and holding a glass of champagne as if he hadn’t left his oldest daughter bleeding on the pavement two hours prior.
But before he could even register my presence, the heavy double doors behind me opened again.
In walked Arthur Vance, the notoriously ruthless CEO of my firm. He was a multi-billionaire who never attended social gatherings, let alone an employee’s sister’s wedding. The room went dead silent. The music seemed to fade away. When my parents locked eyes with Arthur, the color completely drained from their faces. My mother’s hand shook so violently that her red wine glass slipped, shattering against the pristine white linen tablecloth, staining it like blood.
Arthur didn’t look at them. He walked straight over to me, took one look at my bruised face, and then turned his icy gaze toward my father.
“Mr. Callis,” Arthur’s voice resonated through the silent ballroom, carrying a terrifying weight. “I believe you dropped something in the parking lot after you assaulted my top financial analyst.

My security detail handles the venue’s external cameras. We’ve already forwarded the high-definition footage to the police department.”