Chapter 3 - The Ironclad TrapNathan stared at the document, his hands trembling as he reached out a fingertip to touch the embossed court seal. "What... what is this? Sharon, you can't do this. We're getting married!"
"We were," I corrected smoothly, stepping down from the altar platform to stand face-to-face with him. The height of my heels put us nearly eye-to-eye. "Past tense, Nathan. Look around. The catering? Paid for by my pre-marital business account. The venue? Leased under my LLC. Even the suit you’re wearing?" I reached out, flicking his lapel with distain. "Purchased with the credit card I monitor."
He swallowed hard, sweat beading along his hairline, ruining his immaculate styling. "You... you knew? When?"
"When you left your FaceTime running while bragging to mommy dearest about how you were going to throw my 'freak kids' out on the street," I whispered, loud enough for the front rows to catch every syllable.
At the mention of my children, a collective murmur of pure fury rose from the pews. My brother-in-law’s old football friends, sitting near the back, began cracking their knuckles.
"You thought I was desperate," I continued, letting a cold, humorless smile touch my lips. "You thought because I’m a single mother of three running a mid-sized tech logistics firm that I was an easy mark. But you forgot one fundamental rule of business, Nathan: Never underestimate a mother protecting her home."
"Sharon, please," Nathan whimpered, dropping his tough-guy facade instantly, reverting to the sniveling coward he truly was. He reached out to grab my wrist. "We can talk about this! Don't ruin my life over a stupid joke! Mom and I were just venting—"
Before his fingers could graze my skin, a heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder.
It was Ben, my 15-year-old son. He had walked up the aisle quietly, flanked by his two younger sisters. Ben wasn't crying anymore; his eyes were hard, fixed with a cold determination that made him look ten years older.
"Don't touch her," Ben said, his voice dropping into a harsh, chest-deep register.
Nathan flinched, trying to puff out his chest. "Get away from me, kid—"
"Keep my family's name out of your mouth," Ben interrupted, stepping closer until Nathan was forced to back up against the altar steps. "You called us freaks? You stayed in our house, ate our food, played basketball with me while plotting to throw us onto the pavement? You're a coward, Nathan. A pathetic, gold-digging coward."
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Linda shrieked from her seat where security held her. "How dare you speak to your father figure like that, you ungrateful little brat!"
"He was never my father," Ben shot back without looking away from Nathan. "And as of right now, he's just a trespasser."
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