Chapter 16: The Porcelain Facade
The bridal boutique smelled faintly of lavender and expensive champagne, a stark contrast to the violence unfolding on its polished marble floors. Lydia’s breathing was ragged, her chest heaving against the intricate lace of a custom fifty-thousand-dollar gown. Beneath her, Eleanor, Grant’s grandmother, gasped for air, her silver hair in disarray. "Where is the money, you old hag?" Lydia hissed, the sweet, demure voice she had perfected over the last year completely vanishing.
Eleanor clutched her chest, her frail hand reaching for her cane that had clattered out of reach. "You... you won't get a dime," she choked out.
"Get your hands off me!" Lydia shrieked, fully aware she was the one doing the attacking, her eyes wild with a feral desperation.
"Where is the money?!" she demanded again, her fingers digging into the older woman's silk blouse. She knew Eleanor kept a master brass key—the access to the family's untraceable bearer bonds—in her purse. She lunged for the designer bag.
May you like
That was when the heavy oak doors of the VIP suite swung open. Grant stood there, framed by the warm boutique lighting, his jaw clenched, eyes dark with an emotion Lydia couldn't quite place. Instantly, Lydia’s survival instincts kicked in. She released Eleanor and scrambled backward, her face twisting into a mask of pure terror. "Grant! She attacked me! She wanted my money—she’s confused, you have to believe me!"
Grant didn’t rush to comfort his bride. He didn't even look at the tears streaming down her perfectly contoured face. He looked at his grandmother on the floor, then back to the woman he was supposed to marry in three days. "I know exactly what you are, Lydia," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
