From Jilted Wife To The Tycoon's Queen

The harsh glare of the spotlight hit the heavy silk of Harper Ryan's custom wedding dress. She stood at the center of the Plaza Hotel ballroom. Hundreds of crystal glasses clinked together. Her heart hammered against her ribs in a steady, rapid rhythm. She turned her head, a genuine smile forming on her lips, and looked at Chase Young. A sharp, violent vibration tore through the fabric of Chase's tuxedo pocket. The wedding officiant cleared his throat, shooting Chase a subtle warning look. Chase ignored him. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Harper watched the blood drain completely from Chase's face. His skin turned the color of dirty ash. His fingers, gripping the edges of the phone, began to shake. Harper reached out. She tried to place her hand over his to steady him. Chase violently yanked his arm away. The sudden, jerky movement caused his cufflink to scrape across the back of Harper's hand. A thin red line of blood immediately welled up on her skin. He lifted the phone to his ear. "Lila." The name punched the air out of Harper's lungs. A massive wave of panic crashed into her chest, making it impossible to breathe. Chase did not look at Harper. He did not offer a single word of explanation. He turned his body, lowered his shoulder, and shoved hard into the groomsman standing in his way. He sprinted down the center aisle, his expensive leather shoes slipping slightly on the polished floor as he ran toward the heavy oak doors of the ballroom. He slammed both hands against the doors. They crashed open. A gust of cold, damp air rushed into the warm room, catching the edge of Harper's long veil and whipping it across her face. The silence in the room broke. The whispers of hundreds of guests hit Harper like a physical blow. She could feel their eyes on her skin. Pity. Mockery. Disgust. A man in a cheap suit near the back row suddenly raised a camera. The blinding flash exploded in Harper's vision. More flashes followed, burning white spots into her retinas. Harper swallowed hard. The bile rising in her throat tasted like acid. She locked her knees, forced her spine completely straight, and picked up her champagne glass. She brought the rim to her lips and swallowed the burning liquid in one gulp. At the head table, Genevieve Young stood up. Her face was a mask of pure rage. The sharp heels of her shoes clicked against the hardwood floor, a rapid, aggressive sound that cut through the whispers. Genevieve reached Harper. She did not speak. She grabbed Harper's wrist, her long nails digging deep into the flesh, and dragged her off the stage and toward the back hallway of the hotel. Harper stumbled over the heavy layers of her dress. Genevieve shoved her hard. Harper's back hit the cold marble wall of the corridor. The impact sent a dull ache down her spine. Before Harper could catch her breath, Genevieve raised her hand and slapped her across the face. The crack of skin against skin echoed loudly in the empty hallway. Harper's head snapped to the side. Her cheek burned. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth from where her teeth had cut into her inner lip. She stared at her mother-in-law, her chest heaving. "You cannot even keep your own man in the room," Genevieve hissed, her voice low and venomous. "You are making a mockery of this family." Harper opened her mouth to speak. The heavy footsteps of Genevieve's personal bodyguard sounded on the marble. The large man stepped forward, his cold eyes fixed on Harper, forcing her to press her back harder against the wall. Harper's phone vibrated violently from where it was held by her maid of honor standing just off the stage. She stepped down, snatched the vibrating device from the bewildered woman's hands with shaking fingers. Chase's name flashed on the screen. She pressed the green button. "Get to Mount Sinai Hospital right now," Chase ordered. His voice was frantic. There was no apology. "It is a matter of life and death. Lila needs us." Through the speaker, Harper heard the weak, pathetic sound of Lila crying in the background. Harper's stomach violently cramped. A wave of intense nausea hit her so hard she had to close her eyes. "Go fix this," Genevieve commanded, her eyes narrowed. "Or do not ever think about stepping foot in a Young property again." Harper did not cry. She looked at Genevieve with eyes that felt completely dead. She reached down, grabbed the heavy layers of her ruined wedding dress, and turned away. She walked down the long corridor and pushed open the heavy metal exit door. Harper stepped out of the hallway and into the back alley of the hotel. Freezing rain hit her bare shoulders. A violent shiver ripped through her body. She walked quickly to the main street and flagged down a beat-up yellow cab. The driver stared at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes wide as he took in the soaked, bleeding bride. Harper opened her small clutch. She pulled out three hundred-dollar bills and slammed them onto the center console. "Mount Sinai Hospital. Drive as fast as you can." The cab jerked forward. The neon lights of Manhattan blurred through the rain-streaked windows. Harper pulled a wet wipe from her bag and pressed it against the corner of her mouth, wiping away the smeared blood. She opened her phone. She clicked on Twitter. A video of Chase running out of the Plaza was already trending at number one. The heat of pure anger rushed into her bloodstream, warming her freezing hands. The cab slammed on its brakes. The violent stop threw Harper forward. She barely caught herself against the hard plastic of the partition, her wrists absorbing the jarring impact as her stomach churned violently. Harper shoved the cab door open. She stepped out into the freezing rain. She let the expensive hem of her custom dress drag through a puddle of dirty water and motor oil. She stood on the sidewalk and looked up. The lights of the top-floor VIP suites glowed against the dark sky. The last remaining shred of love she held for Chase Young died in her chest. It was replaced by a cold, hard block of ice.