Chapter 3: The Ghost at the Door
The groom scrambled to his feet, his composure shattered, his face a mask of primal rage. "You have no idea what you’ve done, old man! That file—"
Before Julian could finish, the massive, oak-paneled doors at the back of the ballroom creaked open. The heavy sound echoed through the stunned room.
All three hundred guests turned. Standing in the doorway was a figure cloaked in shadow, silhouetted by the moonlight flooding in from the terrace. As the person stepped forward, the gasps were audible. It was Silas Vance—the former business partner Julian had claimed died in a suspicious plane crash two years ago.
Silas looked perfectly healthy, though his face held a hard, vengeful set. Behind him, two federal agents stood, their hands resting on their holsters.
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Julian’s face went white. The swagger, the confidence, the billionaire arrogance—it all dissolved into the pathetic fear of a man who realized he had been played. "You... you were supposed to be dead," Julian whispered, his voice trembling.
"I was," Silas said, his voice ringing out clearly. "Until your bride came to visit me in the ICU. She didn't want a husband, Julian. She wanted a confession."
