"If you walk out that door today—"
Julian's threat slammed into my back, bouncing off the heavy oak doors just as I pushed them open. I didn't turn around. The cool air of the lobby hit my face, stripping away the stifling heat of the banquet hall.
I pulled off my left lace glove. The diamond engagement ring caught the lobby's recessed lighting. The wedding band still lay unopened in its presentation box at the altar; we had never reached that part of the ceremony. I slid the engagement ring off my finger and dropped it into the velvet box resting on the deserted reception table. Two years ago, at our engagement dinner, Lena had photoshopped her face over mine in our announcement portrait, captioning it "Future Second Wife," a stunt Julian had laughed off as harmless playing around. I had swallowed the humiliation then to keep the peace.
Never again.
My cousin Priscilla stepped out from the shadow of the coat check counter. She didn't offer a sympathetic hug or ask if I was okay. Instead, she extended a sleek manila folder.
"The withdrawal notice," Priscilla said, her voice brisk and devoid of pity. "Signed, notarized, and ready to trigger. The bank just needs your final authorization code."
I took the folder. The thick cardstock felt solid against my bare skin. "Hold the transfer. I'll authorize it from my apartment."
Priscilla nodded, adjusting her dark sunglasses even though we were indoors. "My car is out front. Let's go before he causes a scene out here."
Priscilla navigated her black sedan through the city traffic, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.
"He's going to follow you," Priscilla said, checking her rearview mirror. "His ego can't handle a public walkout."
"Let him follow," I replied, staring out the passenger window. "It won't change anything."
"You sure you don't want me to come up with you? I can have security toss him if he tries to force his way in."
"No. I need to look him in the eye when I end this for good."
Priscilla tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Just remember what's in that folder. His family conglomerate is bleeding cash. The only reason the board approved the new expansion was because Mercer Holdings had committed a twelve-million-dollar credit facility for tomorrow morning. You pull that plug, he drowns."
"I know."
"Good. Don't let him convince you this is your fault."
Forty minutes later, I tossed the folder onto my glass coffee table and unzipped the back of my gown. The heavy silk pooled around my ankles just as the electronic lock on my front door chimed. I hadn't changed the passcode yet.
Julian stormed into the foyer, his tie loosened, his face flushed red. Lena trailed closely behind him, clutching a tiny silver purse and looking perfectly at ease.
"Are you out of your mind?" Julian shouted, kicking the door shut. "Do you have any idea how much money that catering cost? My parents are doing damage control with the investors right now!"
I stepped out of the puddle of white silk, wearing only my slip, and crossed my arms. "Then your parents are better hosts than you are."
"Adeline, put your dress back on," he ordered, pointing a stiff finger at the floor. "We are going back. We can tell everyone you had a panic attack. The officiant is still waiting."
"I'm not going back."
Lena sighed, stepping out from behind him. She leaned against my entryway console, tracing the edge of a decorative bowl. "Addie, you're being so dramatic. It was a joke. Why do you always have to ruin the fun?"
"This is my apartment," I said, ignoring her and fixing my gaze on Julian. "Get her out of here."
Julian ran a hand through his styled hair, ruining the gelled perfection. "Stop targeting Lena. She apologized. You're making a massive issue out of nothing. We have been together for five years. You know how she is."
"I do know how she is," I agreed, my tone dropping to a quiet, lethal register. "And I know how you are. You expect me to smile while she marks her territory at my wedding."
"She didn't mark her territory!" Julian fired back, stepping closer. His cologne, usually comforting, now smelled cloying and offensive. "You're insecure. I chose you, didn't I? I put the ring on your finger."
"And I took it off," I replied. "It's in a box at the venue."
Julian's jaw dropped. A muscle ticked near his temple. "You left the ring? That was a custom cut. Do you know how much that cost?"
"Send me the bill. I'll write you a check."
"I don't want a check, Adeline! I want my fiancée to stop acting like a spoiled brat and come back to our wedding!"
I watched him unravel. For five years, I had compromised. I had ignored the late-night texts from Lena, the canceled dates because she had a "flat tire," the constant third-wheeling on our vacations. He treated my tolerance as a given. He thought my silence meant submission. He had no idea the financial rug was about to be pulled out from under his entire startup.
"Every time she crosses a line, you call it a joke," I said. "When she wore white to my bridal shower? A joke. When she booked the hotel room right next to our planned honeymoon suite? Just a quirky coincidence."
"You're keeping score," Julian accused, crossing his arms.
"I'm opening my eyes."
"You're acting hysterical."
"Julian, maybe we should just leave," Lena pouted, crossing her arms. "If she wants to throw a tantrum, let her. You don't need a wife who doesn't support your friendships."
I turned my glare onto her. "My apartment. My rules. Shut your mouth."
Lena gasped, taking a step back. "Julian, are you going to let her speak to me like that?"
"Adeline, apologize to her," Julian demanded, stepping between us like a shield. "She didn't do anything wrong today."
"She ruined my wedding!"
"She made a joke!" Julian roared, his face inches from mine. "A joke! You're the one ruining the wedding by walking out! You're humiliating me in front of the entire city!"
Julian paced the length of the living room, his leather shoes thudding heavily against the hardwood. "Look, I'll ban her from the reception if that makes you happy. Fine. Lena goes home, we go back, and we finish the ceremony. Deal?"
"It's too late for deals."
"It's not too late!" he yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "The guests are still there! The investors are still there! Do you want to ruin my company's reputation over a stupid photo?"
While Julian pleaded his pathetic case, Lena wandered toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. She hummed a pop song as if the argument had nothing to do with her, then drifted toward my glass coffee table.
"Oh, what's this?" Lena chirped.
My eyes snapped toward her.
She reached for the manila folder I had tossed down earlier. The flap was slightly open.
"Lena, don't touch my things," I warned, taking a step forward.
"Relax, I'm just looking," she dismissed, flipping the cover back.
Her manicured fingernail traced the exposed top page. The bold black letterhead read: MERCER HOLDINGS — CREDIT FACILITY WITHDRAWAL NOTICE.
"Mercer?" Lena read aloud, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Julian, why does she have a document about your funding?"
Julian stopped pacing. He turned his head, his eyes narrowing at the folder in Lena's hand.
I lunged across the space between us and slammed my palm flat against the document.
