Chapter 7 - The Rehearsal Dinner
Three weeks later, the day of the wedding rehearsal arrived.
The event was taking place at an exclusive private dining room at the Riverwalk Club in downtown San Antonio, hosted by Brielle Voss’s "wealthy Chicago family"—a collection of paid actors and distant acquaintances Ethan Mercer had meticulously arranged to fill the bride’s side of the room.
Grant had spent the entire morning in a euphoric mood. He wore a six-thousand-dollar tailored tuxedo, drank scotch at noon, and bragged to his mother about how Brielle’s upcoming marriage to a high-powered Chicago attorney would open up massive institutional investment opportunities for Carden Logistics.
"Ethan Mercer is a senior partner at Vance & Sterling," Grant had crowed in the living room while Mariana shined his leather shoes. "Once Brielle marries him, his firm’s private equity clients will pour twenty million into our expansion. We’re going to be national, Mom."
"And to think you almost wasted your life with a receptionist," Darlene had said, smiling as she adjusted her gold necklace.
At five in the afternoon, the Carden family arrived at the Riverwalk Club.
The private dining room was breathtaking. High ceilings, exposed brick walls, crystal chandeliers, and a massive horseshoe-shaped dining table set with white linen, silver cutlery, and hundreds of white roses.
Brielle stood near the entrance in a stunning ivory silk cocktail dress, holding a glass of Dom Pérignon, surrounded by Grant’s sisters, who were laughing and taking photos for social media.
Grant walked in like a king inspecting his domain. He walked straight to the bar, ordered a bourbon, and stood beside Brielle, sliding his hand casually around her waist when he thought no one was looking.
Mariana walked in last.
She was not wearing her usual faded apron or sensible flat shoes.
She wore an elegant, floor-length dark emerald evening gown made of Italian silk—a dress she had purchased six years ago in Chicago and kept hidden in her leather briefcase. Her hair was styled in a sophisticated French twist, her lips painted a deep, classic red, and her posture was straight, tall, and commanding.
The room fell into a sudden, unexpected hush as she walked through the doors.
Grant turned, his drink halfway to his mouth, and stared at his wife. His jaw dropped slightly. He had not seen Mariana look like this since the night they met in Denver four years ago.
Darlene frowned, her eyes scanning Mariana’s dress with immediate, sharp jealousy. "Where on earth did you get that dress, Mariana? It looks entirely inappropriate for a family member who is supposed to be assisting with the event."
Mariana didn't answer. She offered Darlene a cool, serene smile and took a seat at the far end of the horseshoe table.
At six o’clock, the heavy oak doors at the front of the dining room opened.
Ethan Mercer walked in.
He was six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, wearing a bespoke double-breasted charcoal suit that oozed power, wealth, and absolute authority. Beside him walked two men in dark, conservative suits holding thick leather briefcases, and a woman in a crisp suit holding a tablet.
Brielle’s smile widened instantly. She smoothed her dress and rushed forward, her hands outstretched.
"Ethan! Darling! You made it!" Brielle gushed, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
Ethan did not lean in. He did not smile. He did not take her hands.
He stepped past her as if she were made of thin air, his cold blue eyes moving straight across the room until they landed on Mariana.
Ethan walked down the length of the long dining table. He stopped directly in front of Mariana, bowed his head slightly, and extended his hand.
"Good evening, Counselor Vance," Ethan said, his voice deep, clear, and carrying across every corner of the silent room.
May you like
Mariana reached out, her hand resting firmly in his.
"Good evening, Ethan," Mariana replied smoothly. "Thank you for the invitation."
