By the time police arrived, her lawyer was already trying to run. And outside the church, while guests whispered and cameras flashed, Ethan knelt in front of Lily and told her the words that changed everything.
“You’re not homeless anymore.”
Inside St. Andrew’s Church, the shock rolled through the room like thunder. Guests twisted in their seats. Pearls trembled at throats.
Olivia stood frozen at the altar, bouquet clenched so tightly her knuckles went white. She tried to laugh it off, tried to make it sound like wedding nerves, but her eyes kept darting toward the exits and toward the people who might help her escape.
Ethan didn’t raise his voice. That was the frightening part.
He simply lifted his phone and said, calm as a judge, “I’m going to play it again. Loud.”
Then Olivia’s own voice rang through the church speakers, mocking him, bragging about taking half his empire, turning his charity into her own ATM, and laughing at how easy he was to fool.
A wave of horror swallowed the room.
In the third row, her attorney, Connor Price, thin and sweating through his collar, got up too quickly and began edging toward the aisle. Ethan turned sharply.
“Stop that man.”