Chapter 3: The Fragile Facade
Back in the hall, the music was too loud, the laughter too sharp. Clara approached him, her hand sliding possessively up his tuxedo sleeve. She was blinded by her own narcissism, convinced that the man who had been under her thumb for months was still "the groom."
"Where have you been, darling?" she purred, her eyes scanning the room to ensure all the right people were watching her perform the role of the grieving, perfect spouse.
May you like
Julian leaned down, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of a death sentence. "I saw the room, Clara. I saw the girls. I saw the accounts."
Her smile didn't break; it sharpened. She didn't realize the gravity of his words. She thought she could gaslight him as she always had. But she hadn't noticed that the wedding guests—mostly high-powered lawyers and influential associates Julian had invited for this specific purpose—were no longer drinking. They were staring at their phones, which were buzzing with the documents Julian had just uploaded from his phone to a public cloud drive.
