Chapter 4
I read the message three times.
Each time, the words felt heavier.
WHAT NIA DID BEFORE SHE MET MARCUS.
I knew exactly what Bianca meant.
And I had spent six years praying that part of my life would stay buried.
Marcus watched my face.
"Nia?"
I folded the paper.
"There's something I need to tell you."
His expression tightened.
"About what?"
"Before we met."
He reached for my hand.
I stepped away.
Not because I was afraid of him.
Because I was ashamed.
Six years earlier, I had worked for a luxury bridal company called Bellamy Couture.
I was twenty-three.
Fresh out of design school.
Desperate to prove myself.
My mother had recently lost her job, and I was helping pay her rent.
When Bellamy offered me a position, I thought my life was finally beginning.
I designed gowns.
I stayed late.
I skipped weekends.
And I trusted the wrong person.
Her name was Vanessa Bellamy.
She owned the company.
She promised me a future.
Then she accused me of stealing.
Marcus frowned.
"Stealing what?"
"Designs."
He stared at me.
I swallowed.
"She said I copied sketches from her private collection and sold them to a competitor."
"Did you?"
"No."
My answer came instantly.
"I designed those gowns myself."
Marcus moved closer.
"Then what happened?"
"Vanessa claimed she had proof. She threatened to sue me for two million dollars."
His expression darkened.
I continued.
"She offered to drop everything if I signed a confidentiality agreement and resigned."
"And you signed?"
I nodded.
"My mother was sick. We couldn't afford a lawyer."
The memory still made me feel small.
"I lost my job. My portfolio. Almost everything."
Marcus looked horrified.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because people believed her."
My voice broke.
"For months, every designer I contacted rejected me. I thought you'd see me differently."
He shook his head.
"Nia, you should have trusted me."
"I know."
He pulled me into his arms.
I finally let myself cry.
"I'm sorry."
He held me tighter.
"You were threatened. You were twenty-three."
I pressed my face against his chest.
But my relief didn't last.
Because there was one question I couldn't answer.
How did Bianca know?
Only my mother, my attorney, and a few former coworkers knew the full story.
Marcus stepped back.
"Did Bianca ever meet Vanessa?"
I shook my head.
"Not that I know."
"Then somebody told her."
We found Evelyn in the security office.
She was speaking with our attorney, Daniel Price, over video call.
Daniel looked exhausted.
The wedding had become a legal emergency.
I explained Bianca's threat.
He listened carefully.
Then he asked one question.
"Did you ever receive a written retraction from Bellamy Couture?"
"No."
He nodded.
"Then we need to retrieve the original employment records."
Marcus crossed his arms.
"And find out who contacted Bianca."
Evelyn opened her laptop.
"I might have something."
She pulled up the foundation's email archive.
"Three months ago, Bianca requested information about Nia's professional background."
I frowned.
"From whom?"
Evelyn clicked.
"She contacted a private investigator."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
The investigator's invoice appeared.
Background research.
Past employment disputes.
Confidential settlements.
And one name appeared repeatedly.
Vanessa Bellamy.
Marcus slammed his hand against the desk.
"She hired someone to dig into your past?"
I closed my eyes.
Bianca had smiled at me across Sunday dinners.
She'd hugged me at our engagement party.
She'd offered to help choose wedding decorations.
All while investigating how to destroy me.
Daniel's voice interrupted.
"There's something else."
I looked at the screen.
"What?"
"The demand against the foundation appears to have been prepared before Raymond obtained the loan."
I frowned.
"How can that be?"
Daniel leaned forward.
"Someone planned to use the foundation's records before the lender issued the money."
Evelyn became very still.
"That means this wasn't a desperate attempt to cover a debt."
Daniel nodded.
"It may have been organized fraud."
Marcus looked furious.
"And Bianca helped."
"That's what we need to prove."
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed my mother standing outside her apartment building.
Beneath it was a message.
YOUR MOTHER STILL LIVES AT THE SAME ADDRESS.
I felt my knees weaken.
Another message followed.
CALL OFF YOUR ACCUSATIONS.
I showed Marcus.
His face changed completely.
"We're calling the police."
This time, I didn't argue.
Within an hour, detectives arrived at the hotel.
My wedding guests were informed that the ceremony would be delayed.
Some went home.
Others waited.
Several women from my foundation stayed nearby.
One of them, Jasmine, approached me outside the security office.
She was a single mother of two.
My foundation had helped her get emergency housing after she'd escaped a dangerous marriage.
She squeezed my hands.
"You gave me somewhere safe to sleep when I had nowhere else."
My eyes filled.
"Jasmine..."
"Whatever happens, don't let them make you feel ashamed."
I hugged her.
Her words gave me something I'd been missing all day.
Courage.
The police arranged for an officer to check on my mother.
She was safe.
I finally exhaled.
But another call came minutes later.
This time, it was from a woman who introduced herself as Detective Angela Foster.
She was investigating Raymond's company.
"Ms. Johnson, we've been reviewing his financial records."
I held the phone tightly.
"Did you find him?"
"Not yet."
I closed my eyes.
"Then what's happening?"
"We discovered payments made to someone connected to your former employer."
My heart stopped.
"Vanessa Bellamy?"
"Yes."
Marcus moved closer.
Detective Foster continued.
"And there's something you need to understand."
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"The payments began almost a year before your engagement."
I couldn't speak.
Almost a year before our engagement.
Before Bianca had any reason to believe I'd become Marcus's wife.
"Why would Raymond pay Vanessa?" I whispered.
"We're investigating."
The detective paused.
"But one payment includes a reference we haven't identified."
"What reference?"
She read it aloud.
"Project Ruth."
My breath caught.
Ruth.
My grandmother's name.
The woman whose memory had inspired my foundation.
The woman whose veil inspired my wedding dress.
I looked down at the letter still tucked inside my bouquet.
Suddenly, the cruelty surrounding my wedding felt much larger.
This wasn't simply about money.
May you like
Someone had been targeting the things I loved long before Bianca picked up those scissors.
And I was beginning to suspect that my grandmother had known something.
