Chapter 5 - Leaving the Venue
The heavy glass doors of the grand hotel swung shut behind me, cutting off the muffled hum of the ballroom and the stinging echoes of the ruined reception. The cool night air hit my face, carrying the scent of asphalt and exhaust from the grand horseshoe driveway. In my arms, the infant stirred slightly against my chest, the soft ivory lace of his blanket rising and falling with his steady, shallow breaths. I adjusted my grip, my emerald-green satin dress catching the harsh amber glare of the valet lights overhead. The crystal chandeliers inside still burned brightly for empty marble rooms, but out here on the pavement, the reality of what had just happened settled over the quiet street.
I hurried down the wide granite steps toward the curb where my sedan was parked in a temporary loading zone. My heels clicked sharply against the concrete, the rhythm fast and purposeful. I just needed to get to the car, buckle the infant safely into his seat, and leave the polished facade of the venue far behind us.
"Wait. Hold on a second."
Grant’s voice cut through the hum of idling town cars and city traffic. Footsteps pounded down the stone stairs behind me—heavy, uneven, desperate. I turned my head just enough to see him barreling through the sliding glass doors, still clad in his formal black tuxedo. The white boutonniere on his lapel was slightly askew, crushed against the black fabric where he had likely grabbed at it in frustration. His bowtie was half-undone, hanging loosely around his collar like a frayed rope. The polished perfection of the groom had completely unraveled.
He reached the sidewalk, chest heaving, and stepped directly into my path. His eyes darted from my face down to the bundle in my arms before snapping back up, wide and unshielded by the corporate composure he usually wore like armor.
"What are you doing?" Grant demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh, strained whisper. He looked over his shoulder toward the revolving doors, acutely aware that hotel staff or straggling guests might look out at any second. "You can't just drop that bomb in front of everyone and walk away. What is your next move?"
I stopped at the edge of the curb, holding my ground. I didn't flinch away from his gaze, nor did I let anger creep into my posture. I kept my voice low, steady, and entirely level against his rising panic.
"My move was giving you the paperwork, Grant," I said quietly, adjusting the infant's hood to shield his eyes from the glare of a passing headlights. "The documents speak for themselves. There's nothing left for us to discuss out here on the street."
"You ruined everything," he hissed, taking half a step closer, though he kept his hands at his sides as if unsure whether to reach for me or grab his own hair. "My partners are inside. Her family is inside. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to the firm? To my reputation? We could have handled this quietly, behind closed doors, like adults."
"Like adults?" A bitter, quiet laugh escaped before I could stop it. "For months, the only doors that mattered to you were the ones keeping this hidden. You made your choice when you decided what stories to tell and who to leave behind in the dark. Don't talk to me about handling things like adults."
Grant swallowed hard, his jaw clenching so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek. He looked desperate, trapped by the very public image he had spent years constructing. For a fleeting second, I saw the man I used to know—the one before ambition completely rewrote his priorities—break through the panic. But the transformation didn't last. The instinct for damage control took over again almost instantly.
"Name your terms," he muttered quickly, his eyes darting toward the lobby doors again. "Whatever it takes to keep those files out of the public registry, we can settle it. Money, property, whatever you need—"
"This isn't about a settlement, Grant," I interrupted, my tone flat and final. "It's about the truth. It always was."
Without waiting for another word, I turned away from him and stepped off the curb to the driver's side of my car. I unlocked the rear door, carefully secured the infant into his car seat, and closed the door with a firm, solid thud.
May you like
I slid behind the steering wheel, locked the doors, and started the engine. Through the driver's side window, I saw Grant standing alone on the curb under the harsh hotel lights. The tailored tuxedo looked absurd out here against the gritty asphalt of the city street. He stood frozen, hands half-raised in a gesture of unfinished protest, watching helplessly as my headlights swept across the brick facade of the grand entrance. I put the car in drive, pulled away from the curb, and merged into the dark, flowing traffic of the city night, leaving him behind in the quiet wreckage of his own design.
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