Chapter 2 - The Back Table
The main ballroom was a massive, opulent space filled with cascading white orchids, crystal centerpieces, and hundreds of wealthy guests.
I navigated the maze of round tables, ignoring the curious glances from family friends who had likely been told I was a struggling college dropout.
I finally found Table 42, tucked away in the darkest corner of the room, positioned right next to the swinging kitchen doors.
It was exactly the kind of passive-aggressive insult I had expected from Olivia, designed to make me feel small and insignificant.
But as I sat down in the velvet chair, smoothing out the fabric of my sleek emerald dress, I felt nothing but absolute peace.
I poured myself a glass of sparkling water from the pitcher on the table, enjoying the chaotic energy radiating from the front of the room.
My distant cousin, Greg, a quiet accountant who was also shunned by the family’s inner circle, sat down next to me with a sigh.
“They put you in the exile zone too, huh?” Greg joked, loosening his tie and looking around at our terrible view of the stage.
“I actually prefer it back here, Greg,” I replied with a genuine smile.
“The air is a lot less toxic when you aren’t sitting directly next to the source.”
Before Greg could ask what I meant, the grand double doors swung open, and the wedding planner practically shoved the bridal party into the room.
Olivia marched toward the head table with stiff, robotic steps, her face twisted in a scowl that did not match a happy bride.
Julian, the groom, trailed slightly behind her, looking nervous and deeply annoyed by whatever argument they had just had in the hallway.
Julian was a mid-level finance bro who came from a wealthy family, the exact type of man my father had aggressively pushed Olivia to marry.
He had always looked at me with a mixture of pity and weird fascination, but today, his eyes darted nervously across the room until they locked onto mine.
When he saw me sitting calmly in the back, raising my water glass in a mock toast, a strange flash of panic crossed his face.
He quickly looked away, whispering something to his best man and wiping sweat from his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief.
May you like
I narrowed my eyes, observing the subtle tension in his shoulders and the way his hands shook as he pulled out Olivia’s chair.
Something was incredibly wrong with the golden couple, and my analytical mind immediately started piecing the visual clues together.
