7. A Hundred and Fifty Witnesses #2
“Turn it off!” she shrieked. Her voice cracked, wild and hysterical. “Gemma, turn it off! It’s a fake!”
But my phone was locked. I had set the screen to stay on, and I had disabled the external volume buttons.
The breathless silence of the post-coital collapse hung over the speakers. Then, a sharp giggle cut through the tension.
“Did she actually sign off on the hanging orchids?” the digital Piper asked.
“She will,” Ian’s recorded voice replied. The video cut to black. The screen reverted to my phone’s blank lock screen.
Ian was no longer the confident king of the head table. He was on his feet, his chair knocked over backward onto the carpet. His face had turned ashen.
He looked at the blank screen, then at me, and finally at the crowd of horrified guests. Perhaps he was planning to deploy his usual charm to talk his way out, but he found there was no charm left.
The sharp crack of shattering glass sliced through the room.
The tumbler of scotch slipped from Ian’s fingers, hitting the floor and exploding into shards. Beside him, Spencer finally pulled his hand away from Piper’s, recoiling as if her skin were covered in acid.
“Spencer, please!” Piper sobbed. She reached for him, her mascara running in thick rivers down her cheeks. “Spencer, it’s not what it looks like. He forced me—”
“Don’t touch me,” Spencer said. His voice was incredibly quiet, but in the sudden silence, it carried.
His face crumpled. The steady lines of his expression broke apart into raw, devastating grief. He was mourning the woman he thought existed, and the future he thought he was building.
“Gemma!”
The screech came from Diane. She was standing at her table, clutching her cheeks. Her face was a mask of absolute horror. But she wasn’t looking at her cheating daughter or her devastated future son-in-law.
She was looking around the room. She was checking on Spencer’s wealthy family. She was watching the country club staff, who were staring open-mouthed from the kitchen doors.
“How could you do this?” Diane shrieked, turning toward me. “In front of everyone! The Novaks are watching! You are ruining the family name!”
Faced with the absolute proof of her youngest daughter’s betrayal, Diane cared only about the social spectacle. The lack of decorum. In her mind, I was the one who’d made the mistake.
Maybe it should have hurt, but by now, it didn’t come as a surprise. And I’d already decided I didn’t owe any of these people a single damn thing.
I unplugged my phone from the adapter. Dropping it into my clutch, I snapped the metal clasp shut. “No, Mom, I’m not the one who ruined the family name. That was Piper. And maybe you, when you decided to give her everything she wanted.”
I stepped away from the podium and walked slowly back to the head table. “Now, she feels entitled to my husband, too.”
My mother stared at me, trembling. She was clearly not prepared for me to be quite so vicious. But it was Ian who tried to do damage control.
As I approached, he reached out. His hand shook, his eyes wide and pleading.
“Gem,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Gemma, please. I’m sorry. It was a mistake. She came on to me—”
“Shut up,” I said.
I didn’t yell or raise my voice. I just looked at him. He was a stranger wearing a suit I’d bought him, standing in a life I’d funded.
I reached down to my left hand, to the diamond engagement ring and the platinum wedding band he had given me. They slid over my knuckle with zero resistance. My finger felt instantly lighter.
I held them over his half-full water goblet.
I let go.
The rings hit the water with a sharp clink, sinking instantly to the bottom.
“You’re served on Monday, Ian,” I said calmly. “And the vendor portal auto-pays out of your secret checking account tomorrow morning. Enjoy the debt.”
I didn’t look at Piper, who was slumped over the table, wailing hysterically. I didn’t look at Diane, who was furiously trying to apologize to Spencer’s mother.
I reached under the table and picked up the leather handle of Tucker’s leash.
“Come on, buddy,” I whispered.
Tucker stood up, shaking out his golden fur. His little tuxedo collar was slightly askew. He fell into step beside me, his tail giving a low, steady wag.
I headed down the center aisle of the ballroom, ignoring the shocked faces of my extended family. I passed the event coordinator, who looked like she was about to faint.
Nobody tried to stop me. Nobody said a single word.
I pushed through the heavy double oak doors of the ballroom and stepped into the grand foyer. The suffocating air of the party vanished, replaced by the cool, quiet draft of the country club’s air conditioning.
I walked out the front doors. The glass slid open to reveal the crisp Chicago night.
The valet brought my SUV around immediately. I opened the back door, and Tucker hopped inside, settling onto the leather seat with a happy sigh. He whined slightly, the way he did when he asked for treats. His simple presence grounded me, the only piece of that life I actually wanted to keep.
I tipped the valet a twenty-dollar bill and closed the door. The young man eyed me with some apprehension, but he took the money and gave me a professional nod.
“Have a nice evening,” the valet said softly.
“Oh, I will,” I replied, pulling the driver’s side door open and climbing in.
I started the engine. I didn’t look back at the illuminated windows of the country club. I had left the wreckage exactly where it belonged.
I put the car in drive, and I drove away.