Chapter 3
The exodus from the ceremonial hall was quieter than the arrival had been, marked only by the rustle of programs being dropped into chairs and the sharp click of heels hurrying toward the exit. Julian ignored the stares, the whispered inquiries, and the outright glares from guests who had driven hours to witness a union that now lay in ruins. He led Lily through the side exit, bypassing the main lobby where the caterers were still unloading champagne flutes, completely unaware of the catastrophe inside.
They ducked into a quiet, sunlit courtyard behind the venue, surrounded by trimmed boxwood hedges and stone benches. The spring air was warm, smelling faintly of freshly cut grass, but it offered no comfort to the chill settling deep in Julian's bones.
Lily sat down heavily on a wrought-iron bench, her small shoulders shaking as the adrenaline finally wore off, leaving only exhaustion and grief. Julian knelt in front of her, ignoring the dust on the cobblestones that threatened to stain the pristine white of his tuxedo trousers. He placed the small note carefully on the bench between them, as if it were a dangerous animal that might bite if handled carelessly.
"Lily, hey, look at me," Julian murmured softly, cupping her chin with a gentle hand.
Lily lifted her tear-streaked face. Her eyes, so much like her mother's, were red and swollen. "Are we going home, Julian?"
"We are," Julian said, offering a tight, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We're going home right now. But first, I need you to be brave just a little bit longer. Can you do that for me?"
She nodded slowly, sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve.
May you like
Julian picked up the note again. The paper was cheap notebook paper, torn hastily along the spiral binding. The ink was slightly smeared, written with a fountain pen that had leaked at the edges. She isn't who you think she is, the note read. Ask her about the night of October 14th, and ask her where the money from the charity fund actually went.
It was an anonymous accusation, dropped into Lily's coat pocket while she waited in the antechamber before walking down the aisle. But the detail about the charity fund—a specific, heavily audited account that only Julian, Claire, and the foundation's treasurer had access to—made the blood run cold in Julian's veins. He knew Claire had been acting distant lately, staying late at the office, guarding her phone like a hawk. He had brushed it off as pre-wedding jitters. Now, looking at the note, those small red flags bloomed into a terrifying landscape of deception.
