Chapter 4 - The Price of Freedom
"Vivien!" Nate choked out, stumbling forward, his voice cracking with sheer disbelief and panic. "Vivien, tell them! Tell them this is a mistake! Tell them you didn't do this to my family!"
I stopped two feet away from him, looking at my husband with the quiet, detached pity one might reserve for a stranger who had tripped on a sidewalk.
"Your family, Nate?" I asked, my voice carrying clearly across the hushed, breathless room. "Which part of your family? The part that planned to steal seventy percent of my salary to fund a wedding for a sister who wouldn't spit on me if I were on fire? Or the part that looted an old woman's retirement fund to maintain an illusion of upper-class wealth they never actually earned?"
Bob lunged forward, his face twisted in pure, unadulterated hatred, veins bulging on his forehead. He looked less like a respected patriarch and more like a cornered animal.
"You bitch!" Bob screamed, raising a fist as if he intended to strike me right there in front of the entire society elite of Queens. "You ruined my life! You destroyed my son's wedding! I'll see you in prison for the rest of your—"
Before Bob could take another step forward, the two NYPD officers moved with lightning speed. One of them pinned Bob’s arms behind his back with a sharp click of steel handcuffs, while the other read him his Miranda rights.
Helen shrieked, collapsing dramatically onto the multi-tier wedding cake, sending white frosting, sponge cake, and sugar roses cascading across her expensive designer dress in a messy, humiliating avalanche.
Mia burst into loud, ugly tears, running from the ballroom in her pristine white wedding gown, her veil catching on a floral arrangement and tearing completely off her head.
The guests began whispering frantically, grabbing their coats, and rushing toward the exits like rats fleeing a sinking ship. In less than five minutes, the grand ballroom—the monument to the Miller family's vanity—was entirely empty, save for the police, the lawyers, the shattered cake, and the ruins of a stolen dynasty.
Nate sank slowly to his knees on the sticky, frosting-covered floor, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook with dry, desolate sobs.
"Why, Viv?" he whispered, his voice broken, pathetic, and utterly small. "Why did you have to destroy us?"
I knelt down slightly so I was eye-level with him, my expression devoid of anger, filled only with the profound peace of a debt finally paid in full.
"I didn't destroy you, Nate," I whispered softly. "I just stopped paying your family's bills. The house of cards you all built was rotten from the foundation up. You built your entire life on control, manipulation, and other people's money. All I did was pull out the very first brick."
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I stood up, smoothed down the front of my crimson dress, and turned away from him without looking back.
"My divorce papers will be served to you by Tuesday morning, Nate. Make sure you sign them. After all, a family needs to look good, right?"
