Chapter 4
The next morning, my mother refused to leave her bedroom.
I knocked gently.
"Mom?"
No answer.
I opened the door.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing a soft blue robe.
The scarf Danielle had given her lay beside the pillow.
Her uneven hair was uncovered.
She stared at herself in a small mirror.
I felt my chest tighten.
"Good morning."
She looked up.
"Morning, sweetheart."
I sat beside her.
"How are you feeling?"
She tried to smile.
"Like I should hide until my hair grows back."
My throat tightened.
"Mom."
She shook her head.
"I know it's silly."
"It's not silly."
She looked down.
"I've spent so many years trying to hold myself together. I thought I could at least look beautiful at your wedding."
I took her hand.
"You were beautiful."
She laughed sadly.
"Not after Vanessa finished with me."
I felt anger rise.
Then I forced myself to focus on Mom.
"Would you like me to find someone who can help style your hair?"
She hesitated.
"Maybe."
I called a hairstylist named Keisha Morgan.
Keisha specialized in restorative cuts and natural hair care.
She agreed to visit our home that afternoon.
When she arrived, she examined Mom's hair gently.
She didn't make a shocked face.
She didn't ask intrusive questions.
She simply explained what could be done.
"We can shape this into something elegant while it grows," she said.
Mom looked uncertain.
"Even with the uneven sections?"
Keisha smiled.
"Absolutely."
For the next hour, she carefully blended the damaged areas into a short, sophisticated style.
When she finished, Mom stared at the mirror.
Her eyes filled.
"Oh."
Keisha smiled.
"How do you feel?"
Mom touched her hair.
"I look like myself again."
I began crying.
Mom turned toward me.
"Baby?"
I hugged her.
"You never stopped being yourself."
She held me tightly.
For the first time since the wedding, she smiled without forcing it.
But our relief was short-lived.
That evening, Angela called.
She had obtained additional information from Sterling Development Group.
Marcus's new company had submitted a proposal offering to assume part of my firm's design responsibilities.
The letter claimed I had approved the arrangement.
I felt sick.
"Did Sterling accept it?"
"No. Their legal team is waiting for confirmation."
I exhaled.
Angela continued.
"I've sent formal notice disputing the claimed authorization."
I thanked her.
Then she said something unexpected.
"There's another issue."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Someone accessed your company's shared document system two days before the wedding."
I sat upright.
"Who?"
"The login appears to have used your credentials."
I stared at her.
"That's impossible. I was at the rehearsal dinner."
"That's why we're investigating."
I remembered leaving my laptop at Marcus's apartment that evening.
He had offered to charge it for me.
I thought nothing of it.
Now my stomach turned.
Angela asked me to change my passwords and revoke all active sessions.
I did immediately.
Then I called my operations manager, Tasha.
She had worked with me since the company's first year.
When I explained the situation, she sounded furious.
"Nia, I knew something was wrong."
I froze.
"What do you mean?"
"Vanessa came to the office last week."
My heart stopped.
"When?"
"Wednesday morning. She said Marcus wanted her to review the Sterling project files."
I stared at the wall.
"Did you let her?"
"No. I told her those documents were confidential."
I exhaled.
"Thank God."
Tasha continued.
"She became angry. She said once you were married, the company would belong to the family anyway."
My jaw tightened.
"What did you say?"
"I told her marriage doesn't automatically make someone a business owner."
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
Tasha was never afraid to speak her mind.
Then her voice changed.
"Nia, there's something else."
I sat straighter.
"What?"
"Vanessa said you were planning to retire from daily management after the wedding."
I stared at the phone.
"Retire?"
"She said Marcus would handle business development while you focused on starting a family."
I couldn't breathe.
Marcus and I had discussed children.
Someday.
Not immediately.
And I had never agreed to leave my company.
I looked toward Mom.
She was sitting beside me, listening.
Her expression hardened.
"Nia," she whispered, "he's been planning this for longer than you think."
I nodded.
Then I remembered a conversation from six months earlier.
Marcus had asked whether I would consider taking a year off after marriage.
He said I worked too hard.
He said I deserved rest.
I thought he was being caring.
Now I wondered whether he was trying to remove me from daily operations so his family could take control.
The following morning, Angela arranged a meeting with my cybersecurity consultant.
We reviewed the access logs.
An unfamiliar device had logged into my account shortly after midnight on the evening of the rehearsal dinner.
Several business files had been downloaded.
The Sterling proposal.
Client pricing.
Design contracts.
Internal financial forecasts.
I stared at the list.
Someone had accessed nearly everything Marcus needed to make his company appear ready to take over my business.
The consultant couldn't identify the user solely from the login.
But the device information and timing would help the investigation.
I provided the details about my laptop being at Marcus's apartment.
Angela advised us to preserve the evidence and consider appropriate legal action.
I agreed.
Then my phone rang.
Marcus.
I ignored it.
He called again.
Then sent a message.
Nia, we need to talk. You're destroying our future over a misunderstanding.
I stared at the screen.
Our future.
He still spoke as though the wedding was the only thing at stake.
Then another message arrived.
If you continue accusing Vanessa, I'll have no choice but to protect my family.
I felt cold.
I forwarded the messages to Angela.
She replied:
Do not engage. We will respond through counsel.
I nodded.
But before I could put down the phone, Mom entered the room.
She was holding a small envelope.
"Sweetheart, I found something in my clutch."
I looked at it.
"What?"
She handed it to me.
Inside was a folded receipt from the salon.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
PRIVATE ROOM — SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.
Beside it was a payment amount.
Five thousand dollars.
The name listed as payer was not Vanessa.
It was Marcus.
I stared at the receipt.
Then I looked at Mom.
"He paid for it."
She nodded slowly.
My throat tightened.
Marcus hadn't simply watched his sister humiliate my mother.
He had financed the private room where it happened.
May you like
And suddenly, the man I had planned to marry looked less like someone who had made a terrible mistake.
He looked like someone who had carefully arranged a trap.
