CHAPTER 1: Champagne on White Lace
The ballroom at Prescott House had been built for beautiful lies.
Crystal chandeliers warmed the gold walls. A string quartet played beneath an arch of white roses. Guests in tuxedos and silk gowns whispered behind raised glasses while photographers waited for the bride to smile, the groom to appear, and the Prescott name to shine again.
Sarah Bennett sat beneath the arch in her wheelchair, her hands folded over the lace of her wedding dress. The dress had taken six fittings before the crash and three careful alterations after it. The skirt was wide enough to cover the chair's black frame, but she had asked the seamstress to leave the wheels visible.
"I am not decorating shame," she had said.
Now she heard the guests wondering why Lucas was late. She heard the older women murmuring about nerves, heirs, and unfortunate timing. She heard Virginia Prescott's heels before the woman reached her.
Lucas's mother wore red satin, a color too close to triumph. Her silver-streaked hair was piled high, her diamonds sharp as accusation. She stopped beside Sarah and lifted a champagne glass from a passing tray.
"You have embarrassed this family long enough," Virginia said.
Sarah looked up. "Where is Lucas?"
Virginia smiled as if the question amused her. "Doing what a Prescott should have done months ago. Thinking clearly."
The champagne came down before Sarah could move.
Cold amber liquid struck her hair, her cheek, her bodice. Gasps swept through the ballroom. Someone dropped a glass. Sarah closed her eyes only for a second, then opened them again because she refused to give Virginia the mercy of looking broken.
"Stand up and prove you belong here," Virginia said loudly enough for the first three rows to hear. "Or roll yourself out before my son ruins his life."
The words landed harder than the drink.
Sarah's throat burned. She placed one hand on her wheel, not to leave, but to steady herself.
Then Virginia reached for her wedding ring.
"This was never yours," she said.
Behind Sarah, Simone Carter moved so fast the photographers missed it. The caregiver in the white-and-black uniform caught Virginia's wrist in midair, stopping the slap that everyone saw coming.
The music died.
Virginia's eyes widened with outrage.
Simone did not release her. "Do not touch her again."
At the far end of the ballroom, the double doors opened.
Lucas Prescott stood in the light, breathing hard, his tuxedo jacket half buttoned, his face drained of color as he stared at his mother, his bride, and the ruined lace between them.
