Sabrina’s fake tears transformed into a violent, ugly sob. She pointed a trembling finger at Patrick.
"He's lying!" she shrieked, clutching Erick’s lapel. "Erick, tell him to stop! He forged this!"
"I paid a lot of money for that forgery," Patrick said, wiping a speck of dust from his sleeve. "The watermark alone cost a fortune."
Sabrina buried her face in Erick's chest. "He’s always hated you, Erick. He wants to ruin our—your wedding!"
Erick’s face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He dropped the diamond ring onto the floorboards.
He lunged.
His fist collided with Patrick’s jaw. The sharp crack echoed against the mahogany walls.
Guests screamed. My bridesmaids scattered, pressing themselves against the railing.
Patrick stumbled backward, his shoulder hitting the brass handrail. He didn't raise his hands to defend himself. He just stood there, running his tongue over his teeth. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Are you insane?" Erick roared, stepping over the discarded diamond. "You come to my ship and attack my fiancée’s best friend?"
Patrick spat a wad of blood onto the polished floorboards. He didn't even flinch.
"You better figure out who's actually playing you, little brother," Patrick said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Before you lose everything."
Erick raised his fist again. "Get off my ship."
Patrick turned to me, ignoring the threat entirely. "Walk."
I didn't hesitate. I turned my back on the stunned crowd, the crying faker, and the man I almost married.
We moved down the grand staircase, leaving the chaos on the upper deck. The heavy doors shut behind us, cutting off the noise of the wedding guests.
"You let him hit you," I said, keeping my pace brisk.
"It establishes a baseline," Patrick replied, dabbing his lip with a silk handkerchief. "Now he thinks he won. He’ll be too busy comforting his miracle patient to notice what I'm doing."
"Which is what, exactly?" I asked.
Patrick stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The corridor was empty, bathed in the dim glow of the wall sconces. He held out the folder he had given me earlier.
"Flip to the second page."
I opened the thick parchment again. The Mount Sinai logo disappeared, replaced by the letterhead of a wealth management firm.
"What is this?" I asked, scanning the columns of numbers. "A bank statement?"
"Your parents' trust," Patrick said.
I frowned, shoving the folder back toward him. "My parents died in debt. They left me nothing."
"That’s what my father told you," Patrick corrected, stepping closer. He didn't take the folder. "They left a blind trust. Eight figures, Winter. My family has been managing it under the guise of charity since you were ten years old."
My fingers tightened around the paper. The edges crinkled under my grip.
"Look at the clause at the bottom," Patrick instructed.
I dragged my eyes down the page. The legal jargon blurred, but the bold print stood out perfectly clear.
*Upon the beneficiary’s legal marriage to a member of the managing estate, eighty percent of the principal assets shall transfer to the estate's general fund.*
"If you signed that marriage certificate today, my father and Erick would legally absorb your family's money," Patrick said.
The floor seemed to tilt. Ten years of Erick’s gentle smiles. Ten years of his family welcoming the poor orphan girl into their home. They paid for my schooling. They bought my clothes.
All with my own money.
"It was a scam," I whispered.
"A long con," Patrick agreed. "They groomed you to marry Erick so they could drain the accounts."
"And you?" I asked, my voice hardening. "You just decided to be a good Samaritan today?"
"I didn't come back just to crash a wedding," he said. "I came to gut my father’s empire and take back my inheritance. You are the key to breaking his control."
"I don't care about your family drama," I snapped.
"You will," Patrick said. He leaned against the paneled wall. "Because I have the old police files from your parents' car crash. The ones the local cops conveniently sealed."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "You have the files?"
"I do. Marry me, Winter. We burn Erick and my father to the ground, we split the trust, and you get the truth about your family."
Heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs above us.
"Winter!" Erick yelled, his voice cracking with panic.
"Time to go," Patrick murmured. He pushed open the exit door leading to the lower dock.
A sleek black town car sat idling at the end of the pier. Beyond it, a private jet rested on the adjacent tarmac, its engines whining.
I walked down the ramp. The ocean wind whipped my slip dress around my knees.
"Winter, wait!" Erick shouted, sprinting down the gangway.
He caught up to me just as I reached the car. He grabbed my elbow, his fingers digging into my skin.
I yanked my arm away. "Do not touch me."
Erick held his hands up in surrender. He was panting, his tuxedo jacket wrinkled and missing a button.
"You can't just leave," Erick pleaded. "We have three hundred guests up there."
"Tell them the bride realized she was being robbed," I said.
Erick blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "Robbed? What are you talking about?"
"Ask your father," I replied.
"Stop talking in riddles!" Erick yelled, his frustration boiling over. "I’ll make her move out."
I stopped with my hand on the car door handle. "What?"
"Sabrina," he said, his eyes wild. "I’ll buy her a condo in the city. She won't live in the guest house anymore. You'll never have to see her."
"You punched your brother to defend her ten minutes ago."
"He provoked me! He embarrassed her in front of everyone!" Erick stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But I need you, Winter. We belong together. I’ll fix this."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the platinum ring. He held it out, his hand shaking slightly.
"Just come back to the ship," he begged. "Put the ring on. We can forget this ever happened."
I looked at the ring. Then I looked at the man holding it. The man who had planned to steal my future while parading his mistress in my wedding dress.
"Keep her, Erick," I said.
I didn't wait for his reaction. I didn't look back.
I slid into the backseat of the town car. Patrick climbed in beside me and tapped the glass partition.
The car surged forward.
Ten minutes later, I strapped myself into the leather seat of Patrick’s jet.
The engines roared, vibrating through the cabin floor. Patrick sat across from me, pouring two glasses of sparkling water from a crystal decanter.
"No whiskey?" I asked.
"We need clear heads for what comes next," he said, handing me a glass.
"You think he'll follow us?"
"Erick doesn't have the spine to chase a plane," Patrick replied. "My father, on the other hand, will mobilize his lawyers by nightfall."
My phone vibrated in the small clutch purse resting on my lap.
I pulled it out. The screen lit up with a notification from an unknown number.
"Is it him?" Patrick asked, watching my face.
"No," I muttered.
I tapped the message to open it.
The text contained only one sentence.
*Your parents didn't die in an accident.*
I stared at the glowing words. The glass in my hand trembled, water sloshing over the rim and spilling onto my lap.
