Chapter 3 - The Queen’s Counterattack
Eleanor moved across the grass with the lethal grace of a starving panther. Despite her seventy years, her posture was ramrod straight, and her eyes burned with a vicious, controlled hatred. She bypassed the gasping crowd, marching straight up to me, stopping only inches away. The scent of her Chanel No. 5 mixed with the smell of panic in the air.
"You think you can waltz in here with a cheap stunt and upend my son's wedding?" Eleanor hissed, her voice vibrating with venom, low enough so the crowd couldn't hear every word. "You're nothing, Katherine. A zero from the South Side. You crawled out of the gutter, and you'll crawl right back down there."
I didn't blink. I didn't step back. Instead, I reached down and gently straightened Caleb’s velvet bow tie.
"Times change, Eleanor," I replied smoothly, meeting her cold glare with a smile that reached my eyes. "The gutter got crowded. So I bought the street."
Eleanor’s face contorted. Before she could retort, Ethan finally reached us, pushing past his mother. His gray eyes were wild, darting between my face and the three identical little boys standing beside me.
"Katherine... what is this?" Ethan stammered, his voice cracking slightly. "Are these... are these my..."
"Your sons," I finished for him, my tone dropping to an icy whisper. "The ones you told your mother didn't matter when she threatened to ruin me. The ones you traded for a senator’s daughter and a political alliance."
Caroline Hastings had abandoned the altar entirely, marching over in her multi-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown, tears of humiliation shining in her eyes. "Ethan! Who are these children? What is she talking about?!"
"They're his firstborns, Caroline," I said loudly, turning to address the entire crowd of guests who were hanging on every single syllable. "Which technically makes your wedding certificate null and void under Illinois bigamy and trust laws, seeing as Ethan never officially finalized our divorce property division. But hey, details, right?"
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Senator Hastings stepped forward, veins bulging in his neck. "This is a coordinated fraud! Guards, throw them out or I'll have every corporate license your little marketing firm owns revoked by midnight!"
"Go ahead, Senator," I said, pulling my phone from my emerald clutch. "Try it. And watch my tech conglomerate short-stock your campaign donors into bankruptcy before the appetizers are served."
