Chapter 3: The Crack in the Porcelain
A collective whisper rippled through the congregation. The guests, accustomed to the rigid etiquette of high-society events, stared in confusion at the elderly woman walking down the aisle in a simple black lace dress, holding a bouquet of red roses that clashed sharply with the venue's strictly white color scheme.
From the side vestibule, Olivia watched Eleanor’s approach, and her face instantly contorted with anger. The carefully cultivated mask of the serene, elegant bride shattered, replaced by a cold, elitist hostility. Ignoring the protocol of the ceremony, Olivia marched out onto the altar, her heavy lace gown rustling loudly against the polished floor. She intercepted Eleanor just as the older woman reached the steps of the altar.
"What do you think you are doing here?" Olivia hissed, her voice cutting through the quiet melody of the strings.
Eleanor stopped, her smile faltering. She held out the bouquet of red roses, her hands trembling slightly. "Olivia, dear, I brought these for you. They are your favorite. I just wanted to welcome you to the family..."
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"Don't touch me," Olivia snapped, recoiling as if Eleanor’s touch would ruin her pristine white gown. She glared at the roses with utter disgust. "Look at you. You look like you're going to a funeral, not a high-society wedding. I explicitly told security to keep people like you out of here. You are ruining my day, and you are embarrassing us in front of everyone."
Nathan, who had been watching the interaction in disbelief, felt a cold shock wave of realization wash over him. The whispers of the guests faded into static as he stared at his bride, seeing her true character laid bare in the harsh light of the chandeliers. The woman he was about to marry was not just status-conscious; she was cruel.
