The Billionaire Groom’s Wedding Trap: My Mother Ruined My Bride, So I Brought Back the Dead

A sound of pure, unadulterated agony tore from Clara’s throat. It was not a scream of fear, but the roar of a daughter discovering the stolen life of her family.

She didn't care about the five hundred elite guests. She didn't care about the millions of dollars of couture silk in the room. Clara broke away from Julian’s grasp and surged toward Eleanor like an avenging fury.

“You killed him!” Clara cried, her fingernails clawing at the air. “You murdered my dad! He was thirty-nine years old! My mother cried herself to sleep every night for a decade because of you!”

Eleanor scrambled back in terror, slipping on the wet marble, her Dior dress soaking in the filthy puddle of alcohol. “Get away from me! Security! Somebody stop this madwoman!”

Marcus Sterling’s cane moved with blinding speed. He hooked the shaft of the ivory cane around the leg of Eleanor’s chair, pulling it away so Eleanor fell flat onto her back among the shattered crystal shards.

“Don’t look at security, Eleanor,” Marcus said, towering over her like an archangel of retribution. “Look at me. Look at what you’ve built. You built an empire on blood, ash, and the corpses of honorable men. And you thought you could wash your hands clean in front of Manhattan’s high society?”

Eleanor lay on the floor, crystal glass cutting into her arms, green silk smeared with grime. She looked up at Clara, who stood above her, shaking with a rage so profound that Clara’s eyes were completely wild.

“You want to cut something, Eleanor?” Clara whispered, her voice dead, cold, and terrifying. Clara bent down, picked up the heavy silver shears that Eleanor had used to sever her braid, and held them poised above Eleanor’s face.

The room gasped in horror. Nobody breathed.

Eleanor closed her eyes and shrieked, cowering like a beaten dog. “Don’t touch me! Julian! Julian, stop her!”

Julian didn't intervene with force. Instead, he walked slowly to Clara’s side. He placed his warm, steady hand over her trembling fingers that gripped the shears.

“Clara,” Julian said softly, his voice full of infinite tenderness and sorrow. “Don’t dirty your hands with her blood. That’s what she does. She butchers people in dark rooms. We are going to destroy her in the blinding light of the law.”

Slowly, Clara’s chest heaved. The tears spilled freely down her cheeks, washing away her wedding makeup. She looked down at the pathetic, groveling billionaire woman on the floor.

With a sound of disgust, Clara dropped the heavy scissors onto Eleanor’s chest.

*THUD.*

Eleanor flinched as if she had been shot.

Julian turned toward the grand ballroom doors. “Detective Reynolds, Agent Vance from the Southern District. You can come in now.”

From the back of the hall, four men in tailored dark suits and federal badges strode deliberately down the aisle. Behind them walked two uniformed New York City police officers carrying heavy zip-ties and handcuffs.

Eleanor looked up from the floor, her eyes rolling in panic. “Warrants? You don't have warrants! I am Eleanor Sterling! I donated fifty million dollars to the Governor’s re-election campaign! You can’t touch me!”

The lead federal agent, an imposing woman with silver-streaked hair, pulled a crisp document from her breast pocket and unfolded it.

“Eleanor Sterling, you are under arrest for first-degree conspiracy to commit murder, the premeditated murder of Arthur Vance, attempted murder of Marcus Sterling, grand larceny, insurance fraud, and witness tampering spanning two decades.”

Agent Reynolds gestured to the two uniformed officers.