Chapter 12: The Runaway Bride
I was sitting at my kitchen island, going through the endless stacks of supportive letters people had mailed to Sophie, when I heard a soft knock at my front door.
I checked the security camera on my phone.
Standing on my porch, hiding behind massive Chanel sunglasses and a silk scarf, was Chloe. The bride.
I unlocked the door and leaned against the frame.
"Evelyn," Chloe said, her voice shaking. "Please. Can I come in? Just for five minutes. There are reporters camped outside my parents' estate. I had to sneak out in the caterer's van."
I hesitated, but stepped aside. "Five minutes."
Chloe practically ran inside, locking the door behind her. She ripped off her sunglasses. She looked terrible. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her perfectly manicured hands were trembling uncontrollably.
"I signed the annulment papers this morning," she blurted out, pacing my living room. "I'm done with him. I’m completely done. But Evelyn... you need to know why he did it."
I frowned, crossing my arms. "He did it because he's a narcissist who hates me."
"No," Chloe shook her head frantically. "He did it because he owed two million dollars to some very, very bad people. Underground sports betting. I found the burner phone in his luggage while he was packing for his run to Dubai."
My stomach tightened. "What does that have to do with framing my daughter?"
Chloe stopped pacing and looked at me, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"A week before the wedding, your father told Preston that he was updating his will. He told Preston that half the estate, and control of the family trust, was going to be left to Sophie. Your father knew Preston was reckless with money, even if he didn't know about the gambling."
It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
"Preston needed all of it," Chloe whispered. "He needed your father to disinherit you and Sophie completely, so Preston could use his status as the sole heir to secure a massive loan to pay off the bookies. He planted the phone to make Sophie look like a delinquent and you look like an unfit mother. He wanted Arthur to cut you out forever."
The sickness in my stomach turned into cold, hardened steel. It wasn't just a petty grudge. It was a calculated, financial hit job on my child.
Chloe reached into her designer tote bag and pulled out a manila envelope.
"These are the screenshots from his burner phone," she said, setting them on the counter. "The texts with his bookie. And the texts where he admits to planning the phone stunt. I want immunity. If I give you this, promise me you'll tell the internet to leave me and my family alone."
May you like
I looked at the envelope. This was the final nail in Preston's coffin.
"Deal," I said. "Now get out of my house."
