Chapter 2 - Playing The Devoted Bride (Feeding the Monsters Their Favorite Poison)
Brunch was at Coquette, a French boutique cafe in North Hills that Tanya loved because the lighting made her skin look flawless for her Instagram stories. When I walked in, she was already sitting at our usual corner table, wearing a cream-colored knit sweater that looked remarkably similar to one Damon had commented on a few weeks ago.
“Renee!” she shrieked, jumping up to hug me. She smelled like Jo Malone Peony & Blush Suede—the exact perfume Damon had bought her with our joint credit card, as I had discovered in the bank statements Marcus’s team had pulled for me just an hour prior.
I hugged her back, pressing my cheek against hers. I could feel her heart beating. Was it guilt? Or was it the thrill of the hunt?
“Look at you, the future Mrs. Whitaker!” she gushed, pulling back and grabbing my left hand to admire the three-carat oval diamond on my finger. “Damon did so good. You two are literally couple goals.”
“He really did,” I said, sitting down and unfolding my linen napkin. “Though, to be honest, I think he had some help. He’s never had great taste in jewelry on his own.”
Tanya’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second, her eyes darting down to her mimosa before she recovered. “Well, men can surprise you when they’re truly in love.”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said, taking a sip of my water. “In fact, he surprised me this morning. He told me he wants to hand over all the wedding finances to me. He said he trusts my judgment completely since I do this for a living.”
This was a lie, of course. Damon hadn't handed anything over. But I knew Tanya. I knew that she and Damon had a shared vision of their future—a future built on the ashes of my company and my savings. Marcus’s forensic accountant had uncovered something even more sinister than hotel bills: Damon had recently opened a shell company under the name Whitaker & Associates, and he had been quietly pitching some of my highest-paying corporate clients, trying to lure them away to a new event-management and consulting firm he planned to launch.
He wasn't just stealing my fiancé’s affection; they were trying to steal my livelihood. Tanya was going to be his creative director. They had already drafted a business plan on his work Google Drive.
“Wow, that’s... that’s amazing, Renee,” Tanya said, her voice dropping a bit. “So, you have full access to all the accounts now?”
“Everything,” I lied smoothly. “The business accounts, the personal savings, the investments. I’m actually consolidating all of it this week into a single management portfolio. It makes it easier to write the big checks for the vendors.”
I watched her process the information. I could practically see the gears turning in her head. She was thinking about how much easier it would be for Damon to siphon off the money if it was all in one place. She was thinking about how much they could take before I noticed.
“That’s so smart,” Tanya said, leaning in, her eyes shining with false devotion. “You know, if you ever need help with the admin stuff, or if you want me to look over the seating charts, I’m here. I want to be the best Maid of Honor you could ever ask for.”
“You already are, Tanya,” I said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. Her skin felt cold. “Actually, I do need one favor. I’m planning a surprise for Damon. A special pre-wedding dinner just for our closest friends and family, right before the rehearsal. I want it to be incredibly intimate. Just twenty people. His bosses, our families, and you.”
“A surprise? I love surprises,” she purred.
“I know you do,” I smiled. “I’m setting up a private dining room at Magnolia Hall again—since we loved the venue so much for the engagement party. I’m going to create a video tribute for him. A retrospective of his life, his career, and the people who got him to where he is today. I need you to help me gather some photos. Especially photos from the last year. You two have spent so much time together while I’ve been working late on those corporate accounts.”
Tanya’s face paled slightly, but she quickly masked it with a laugh. “Of course! I have tons of photos of Damon. I’ll go through my cloud drive tonight and send them over.”
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“Perfect,” I said. “Make sure you include the ones where he looks the happiest. I want everyone to see his true face.”
As the waiter brought our food, I watched her pick at her salmon benedict. She thought she was the puppet master, pulling the strings of a oblivious bride. She had no idea that I had already rewritten the script, and she was walking straight toward the edge of the stage.
