He looked away. He couldn’t even look me in the eye.
That was when Natasha grabbed my shoulder. “How dare you upset my mother!” she shrieked. She yanked hard on the thin strap of my dress.
The fabric ripped. The sound was distinct—a tearing of seams that left the bodice hanging precariously. I grabbed the fabric, clutching it to my chest, humiliation washing over me in a tidal wave.
The crowd was laughing. Someone shouted, “Wardrobe malfunction!” The phones were held high, recording the breakdown of the poor girl.
“Security!” Clarissa screamed again. “Remove this trash!”
Two burly guards started toward me.
I looked at Brandon one last time. I saw the cowardice etched into his handsome features. And in that moment, the love I felt for him evaporated. It didn’t turn to hate; it turned to ash.
“I see,” I said quietly.
That was when we all heard it.
Thwup-thwup-thwup-thwup.
At first, it was a vibration in the floor. Then, the glasses on the tables began to rattle. The chandeliers swayed. The sound grew deafening, a mechanical roar that drowned out the laughter.
“What on earth?” Clarissa shouted, looking at the ceiling.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bright spotlights cut through the darkness. A massive, sleek black helicopter was descending onto the hotel’s rooftop helipad, directly above the ballroom.
The crowd murmured in confusion. “Who arrives by helicopter?”
The live stream viewer count on the nearest phone hit 100,000.
Then, the ballroom doors banged open.
My father walked in.
