In front of nearly 300 wedding guests, my father crossed a serious line. He thought I would quietly accept the humiliation. He was wrong.

PART 2
My mother was the first to rush over, her eyes darting nervously toward the nearby guests.

“Jessi, go straight to the restroom and clean yourself up! You are ruining the family photographs!”

That was her entire reaction. She didn’t ask if I was alright. She didn’t reprimand my father for his cruel stunt. Her sole concern was the aesthetic quality of the wedding album.

“I am perfectly fine, Wendy,” I said calmly.

Chloe hurried over right behind her, clutching her bridal train. “Please, Jessi, don’t make a pathetic scene at my wedding.”

I looked at my sister. “I didn’t pour the wine, Chloe.”

“Dad was just joking around!”

“Of course he was.”

My father overheard and gestured dismissively. “Exactly. Learn how to take a joke for once in your life, Jessi.”

Dozens of guests were actively staring now, whispering behind their cloth napkins.

Then a sudden murmur began near the grand double doors of the ballroom.

The heavy wooden doors swung wide open. Four large men wearing tailored dark suits stepped into the room. They clearly weren’t hotel staff or standard guests. Two positioned themselves firmly by the entrance doors, one discreetly scanned the perimeter, and the fourth spoke quietly into a wrist earpiece.

The crowd went quiet, turning to watch.

Flynn stopped smiling. His father, Marcus Reed, stood up sharply from his seat.

Then Luca walked in.

He wore a dark navy bespoke suit, a crisp white shirt, and no tie. He had spent six hours traveling across time zones, yet he walked into that room with an unshakeable, commanding authority that made the entire ballroom feel small.

I saw Marcus Reed go deathly pale. “Is that… Luca Vance?”

Flynn turned instantly. “What? Where?”

“Vance Global,” Marcus whispered in shock.