Chapter 2 - The Security Feed
The high-definition footage was merciless.
It projected the interior of the private guest dressing suite at 4:15 p.m. that afternoon—two hours before the engagement party began.
On the screen, Celeste Whitmore was pacing back and forth across the white rug, talking frantically on her phone. Her voice, amplified by the state-of-the-art surround sound system of the ballroom, echoed clearly through the space.
“I don’t care how you do it, mother, just wire the fifty thousand by Monday!” Celeste snarled on the recording. “If Ethan finds out about my gambling debts before we sign the prenup, the wedding is off, and I’ll be left with nothing!”
In the ballroom, several prominent investors choked on their champagne. Marianne Calloway’s jaw dropped so low it looked as though it might unhinge.
On the screen, Celeste paced closer to the vanity mirror where a velvet jewelry tray sat. She picked up the diamond tennis bracelet, stared at it with an expression of pure malice, and then walked directly toward the open door where Nora was walking past in the hallway carrying a stack of fresh linens.
The video showed Celeste stepping into the doorway, intentionally dropping the bracelet deep into the pocket of Nora’s unattended laundry cart, and then marching back inside to scream about a missing item.
The entire ballroom was plunged into a silence so profound that the hum of the air conditioning sounded like a jet engine.
Celeste stood frozen beneath the glowing screen, her mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish. Her silver Paris gown suddenly looked like a cheap costume.
“Well,” Ethan said, breaking the silence. His voice was terrifyingly calm. “It appears my fiancée is not only a liar, but exceptionally clumsy with other people’s property.”
“Ethan, I can explain!” Celeste shrieked, tears springing to her eyes as she lunged toward him, her manicured hands clawing at his lapels. “It was a joke! I was just—I was stressed about the wedding! You know how overwhelming this family is!”
Ethan didn't flinch. He reached down, unclasped her hands from his jacket one by one, and pushed her away with casual, insulting ease.
“Security,” Ethan called out.
Two corporate security guards in black suits stepped forward from the shadows of the hallway, their expressions impassocked.
“Escort Miss Whitmore off the property,” Ethan ordered. “Ensure her personal belongings are boxed and shipped to her parents’ address by midnight. Do not let her near the house, the offices, or any of my accounts.”
“Ethan, you can’t do this to me!” Celeste screamed as the two guards grabbed her arms, dragging her kicking and crying toward the grand oak doors. “You’ll ruin me! My friends are all in this room! Look at them! Look at you!”
Nobody looked at her.
The guests pressed themselves flat against the walls, terrified of catching Ethan Calloway’s eye.
As the heavy doors slammed shut behind Celeste’s frantic shrieks, the ballroom remained frozen.
Ethan turned his attention back to Nora.
She was still standing near the console table, her breathing slightly elevated, her hand resting on her belly. The physical shock of the fall was beginning to catch up with her, and she looked pale and exhausted.
Without a word, Ethan stepped past his mother, knelt down in front of Nora once again, and gently took her hand.
“Can you walk?” he asked softly, his voice a stark contrast to the ice he had used on Celeste.
“I... I think so,” Nora whispered.
“We’re leaving,” Ethan said.
“Ethan,” Marianne interjected, stepping forward with a look of wounded maternal authority. “Where are you going? Your guests are still here! What about the reception? What about the scandal?”
Ethan stood up, pulling Nora gently to her feet, keeping one arm securely around her waist to support her weight. He looked at his mother with eyes that looked a decade older than they had an hour ago.
“Mother, the reception is over,” Ethan said coldly. “As for the scandal, consider it a late wedding present to myself.”
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He looked around the room at the two hundred silent, gaping faces of Dallas society.
“The party is finished. Please find your way out.”
