Chapter 3
Sylvie's POV
Two days until the wedding.
My phone was dead silent. Aside from a few vendor confirmations, there wasn't a single text from Everett.
Oh, I knew his game.
In his world, I was the woman who loved him too much, the one who couldn't leave. Every time I'd ever backed down had fed his delusion that I was just throwing a tantrum. He was sure that if he just ignored me for a few days, I'd come crawling back, tail between my legs.
This time, he was dead wrong.
I let the wedding chaos burn. Then, a notification popped up from the bridal shop. My dress was ready.
I’d paid the final $200,000 on it from my own account. My first thought was to just call and cancel, but for that kind of money, I decided a personal visit was in order.
The moment I stepped inside the boutique, a laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips.
Thea. Standing in front of a massive mirror, wearing my wedding gown. The thousands of crystals winked under the spotlights. Her frame was too small for it; the dress sagged on her shoulders, but her face was a picture of pure, drunken ecstasy.
Everett was on the sofa, watching her, his expression soft and proud.
"Everett, isn't it just gorgeous?" Thea cooed, swishing the skirt. "It's a shame I'll probably never get married. Just wanted to pretend for a minute. Sylvie's so sweet, she won't mind, right?"
"Gorgeous," Everett agreed with a low chuckle. "You love it? I'll have them make you one in your size. My treat."
"Really? You're the best!" she squealed, throwing herself into his lap and landing a wet kiss on his cheek.
I watched them from the doorway. Then I raised my phone, my face a blank mask, and took a photo. The flash was blinding.
CLICK.
They froze. Everett shoved Thea off him, scrambling to his feet. Panic flared in his eyes before being replaced by a smug, relieved grin.
"There you are," he said. "Knew you couldn't stay away. Okay, you've had your little tantrum. Now go get dressed."
He thought my being there was a white flag.
I ignored him, my eyes locked on Thea.
"Get out of the dress."
Her eyes immediately filled with tears. "Sylvie, I'm so sorry... I was just... I admire you so much, that's all. Please, don't take this out on Everett, it was my idea..."
"For God's sake, Sylvie, that's ENOUGH!" Everett snapped, pulling Thea behind him like a shield.
His face was a thundercloud. "She's going through hell with her lawsuit, she's a nervous wreck! She just wanted to feel pretty for five minutes. It's just a damn dress! What is WRONG with you?"
"Just a dress?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. We'd spent six months designing it. Our initials were embroidered inside.
My patience evaporated. I lunged and grabbed the gown’s intricate neckline.
"I said, take it off. Or I'll rip it off you myself!"
"Ow! You're hurting me!" Thea shrieked. We grappled, a clumsy, desperate dance of silk and fury. We lost our balance and crashed to the marble floor in a heap.
"You're fucking crazy!" Everett roared. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back.
CRACK.
The slap echoed through the pristine boutique. My head snapped to the side, and the force sent me stumbling backward. My ankle gave out. I fell, the back of my head slamming against the sharp corner of a marble pedestal.
A flash of white-hot pain, then black. I felt a warm trickle down my neck as the darkness closed in.
Everett froze, his hand still raised.
"Sylvie..." he whispered, his face pale with shock as he started to move toward me.
But from the floor, Thea let out a blood-curdling scream. "Everett! My ankle! Oh God, I think it's broken! It hurts, it hurts SO BAD!"
The hand reaching for me froze. His gaze shot from me to Thea's screaming. There was a heartbeat of hesitation—just one—and then he chose.
He spun, scooped her up, and bolted from the room.
"Sylvie, just... just wait! I gotta get her to the ER!"
He was gone.
The shop girls were screaming. Someone was calling 911.
Sitting in the ER getting three stitches, my mind was cold, quiet, and clear. I didn't shed a tear.
I called my lawyer. "Everett Carter. Fraudulent transfer of assets. I want the apartment back. File it. Now."
I hung up, went home, grabbed my bag, and took a cab to JFK.
As the flight to Paris climbed into the night sky, I stared out at the shrinking city lights and turned my phone off.
Two days later. The wedding.
Everett stood under the floral arch, handsome in his Tom Ford tuxedo. He kept checking his Rolex, his jaw getting tighter by the minute.
He'd rushed back to the shop to find me gone. For forty-eight hours, every call, every text, had been met with a wall of silence.
Panic, cold and unfamiliar, pricked at him, but he pushed it down. He was used to me giving in. He still believed, with the blind arrogance of a man who'd never been told 'no,' that I would appear at the last possible second, ready to play my part.
"Everett, where is she?" Thea whispered, gliding up in her bridesmaid dress. "She wouldn't actually stand you up, would she?"
He tugged at his collar, annoyed. "It's what she does. Thinks if she pouts long enough I'll come begging. It's pathetic."
"Well, it's making you look bad," Thea murmured, a sly smile playing on her lips. "All these important people..."
"Let her pout," Everett scoffed. "She'll come crawling back when she realizes I'm not chasing her."
But the minutes bled into an hour. The whispers from the guests grew louder. Everett’s confident façade began to crack.
He finally broke, pulling out his phone to dial my number.
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
He stared at the phone. He frantically pulled up my Instagram. My Facebook. My WhatsApp.
Blocked. Blocked. Blocked.
The breath caught in his throat. A true, suffocating panic finally seized him.
Just then, his assistant sprinted in, gasping for air, his face drenched in sweat.
"Sir! Sir, it's bad! A courier... from your fiancée's lawyer..."
"WHAT IS IT?!" Everett roared, grabbing the front of his shirt.
"She... she canceled everything! The wedding's OFF! And she's suing you! For FRAUD! The reporters out front... they know everything!"
The color drained from Everett's face. His legs buckled, and he collapsed into a nearby chair.
Impossible. She wouldn't dare. She wouldn't just throw all this away...
Ping.
His phone lit up. An email from an anonymous address.
There was one attachment. A video.
