The Grand Ballroom of the Ashford Estate was a cathedral of vanity, a sprawling expanse of polished marble, gilded crown molding, and crystal chandeliers that hung like frozen lightning above the guests.

The string quartet’s frantic crescendo masked the heavy, rhythmic thud of Seraphina Croft’s heels against the marble floor. Three hundred of the country’s most powerful elite watched her march down the aisle. They expected a blushing bride. What they got was a woman marching to an execution.

At the altar, Marcus Blackwood waited, looking every bit the conquering prince in his bespoke Tom Ford tuxedo. His smile was perfectly practiced, a veneer of charm that had fooled Forbes, Wall Street, and, for a time, Seraphina herself.

She stopped three feet away from him. She didn't hand off her bouquet. She didn't look at the archbishop.

"Seraphina, darling, you’re trembling," Marcus whispered, his voice a smooth baritone, reaching out to take her hand.

Seraphina slapped his hand away with such force that the sharp crack echoed through the cavernous atrium. The silence that followed was absolute. The string quartet stopped playing mid-note.

"I am not trembling from nerves, Marcus," Seraphina said, her voice amplified by the lapel mic the wedding planner had insisted on. It boomed through the speakers. "I am trembling with rage."

Marcus’s perfectly sculpted face faltered. "Sera, what are you doing?"

Seraphina reached into the bodice of her million-dollar gown and pulled out a sleek, black flash drive. She turned to the crowd, locking eyes with her father in the front row, and then with Victor Blackwood, Marcus’s terrifying patriarch of a father.

"Tonight, we were supposed to merge our families and our empires," Seraphina announced, her voice dripping with venom. "But three days ago, I gained access to Marcus’s encrypted offshore servers. I was looking for a wedding surprise. What I found was the order to tamper with the brakes on my brother Leo’s Aston Martin last year."

The crowd gasped. Seraphina’s father, Arthur Croft, stood up, his face bloodless. "Seraphina! Have you lost your mind?"

"I found it, Father!" she screamed, pointing the drive at Marcus. "Leo didn't die in an accident! Marcus had him killed so I would become the sole heir to Croft Pharmaceuticals! So he could marry me and swallow our company whole!"

She pressed a button on a small remote hidden in her bouquet. The massive screens lining the atrium, meant to display a slideshow of their romance, flickered to life. A voice recording played—Marcus’s voice, cold and calculating.