Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - A Wedding Toast Turned Tumult

The wedding reception was a surreal nightmare. I sat at a table far from the main party, nursing a glass of champagne I had no intention of drinking. Every laugh, every toast, every tinkle of crystal felt like a personal attack.

The stranger who'd offered me his handkerchief had disappeared after the ceremony, leaving me alone again with my humiliation. I smoothed my thumb over the expensive fabric, noticing the initials "D.S." embroidered in one corner.

"Hazel," my father's voice cut through my thoughts. I looked up to see him standing over me, his expression stern. "You're needed."

"For what?" I asked, immediately suspicious.

"The toast." His smile was tight. "Ivy wants you to give a toast."

My blood ran cold. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You will do this. You've already received your mother's shares. Now honor your part of the bargain."

I gripped the edge of the table. "A toast wasn't part of our agreement."

"It is now." His eyes hardened. "Do not make a scene."

Before I could protest further, he straightened and addressed someone behind me. "Mr. Sterling, I didn't realize you were attending."

I turned to see the handsome stranger from earlier, now standing just feet away. Up close, I could see how striking he was—tall, with dark eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

"Harrison," the man replied coolly. "I received an invitation."

My father's demeanor changed instantly, becoming almost deferential. "Of course, of course. It's an honor to have you here."

The man—Mr. Sterling—glanced at me, and something in his gaze made me feel suddenly less alone.

"I was just telling my daughter about her toast," my father continued, the edge returning to his voice as he looked back at me.

Mr. Sterling raised an eyebrow. "A toast? How... unexpected."

The way he said it made it clear he understood exactly what was happening. My father shifted uncomfortably.

"It's a family tradition," he lied smoothly.

"Is it?" Mr. Sterling's tone was polite but skeptical. "I don't recall your daughter giving a toast at her own engagement party last year."

I stared at him in surprise. How did he know about my engagement party?

My father cleared his throat. "Well, times change. If you'll excuse us—"

"Actually," I interrupted, standing up, "I'll give the toast."

Both men looked at me—my father with suspicion, Mr. Sterling with something like curiosity.

"I'll do it," I repeated, smoothing down my dress. "After all, what's one more humiliation today?"

My father's face darkened, but with Mr. Sterling watching, he merely nodded curtly. "Good. They're doing toasts now."

As he walked away, I let out a shaky breath.

"You don't have to do this," Mr. Sterling said quietly.

I looked up at him. "I know. But maybe I want to."

A small smile curved his lips. "Then I look forward to hearing what you have to say."

He walked away, leaving me wondering who exactly he was and why my father seemed almost afraid of him.

I made my way to the front just as the wedding planner—my wedding planner—was announcing the toasts. Julian's best man had just finished speaking when the microphone was thrust into my hands.

"And now," the planner announced with artificial cheer, "a special toast from the bride's sister, Hazel Ashworth."

A hush fell over the crowd. I could feel hundreds of eyes on me, a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. In the front row, Ivy sat beside Julian, her hand possessively on his arm, her smile sweetly venomous.

I took a deep breath and raised the microphone.

"For those who don't know me," I began, my voice steadier than I felt, "I'm Ivy's stepsister. And Julian's former fiancée." Murmurs rippled through the crowd. "Yes, it's an unusual situation."

Eleanor's face twisted with fury. My father glared at me in warning. But I'd already crossed the Rubicon.

"When I was asked to give this toast, I thought about what I could possibly say." I paused, scanning the crowd until I found Mr. Sterling, watching me intently from the back. His presence gave me courage. "I could lie and say I'm happy for them. But I think we all deserve better than lies today."

Julian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Good.

"Instead," I continued, "I'll offer some truths. Ivy—" I turned to her, meeting her panicked eyes, "—you've always wanted what was mine. Since we were children. My toys. My clothes. My father's attention." I smiled thinly. "Now you have my fiancé and my wedding dress. I sincerely hope they bring you joy for however long you have left."

Gasps echoed around the room. Ivy's face crumpled into theatrical tears.

"And Julian," I shifted my gaze to him, "you and I were together for six years. I donated blood to you every month for five of those years. I planned our future, our family. And you threw it away in an instant." My voice didn't waver. "So here's my toast: To Julian—may you never need a blood transfusion from someone who loves you truly. And to Ivy—may you get exactly what you deserve."

I raised my champagne glass in mock salute. "A bitch and a dog—a match made in heaven."

Chaos erupted. Ivy sobbed dramatically into her hands while Julian tried to comfort her. Eleanor stood, her face contorted with rage, while my father barreled toward me.

"How dare you!" he hissed, grabbing my arm so tightly I knew it would bruise. "You ungrateful—"

"Let go of me," I demanded, trying to pull away.

"You've always been just like your mother," he spat. "Weak, emotional, pathetic—"

Something in me snapped. "Don't you dare speak about her that way. She was worth a thousand of you!"

The slap came swiftly, the crack of his palm against my cheek echoing in the sudden quiet. My head jerked to the side, pain blooming across my face.

"Harrison!" someone gasped.

I touched my cheek, feeling it burn under my fingertips, and looked up to find Julian standing there.

"Hazel, that was completely inappropriate," he had the audacity to say, looking concerned but righteous. "You've upset Ivy on our wedding day."

I laughed bitterly, noticing how handsome he looked in his tuxedo—the same one I had helped him choose months ago.

"Nice suit, Julian," I said coldly. "Did you wear it to remind me that I was supposed to be your bride today? Or did you just forget where you got it?"

His face flushed. "That's not—"

"That suit was my design," I cut him off. "I made it specifically for our wedding. But I guess it works just as well for marrying my stepsister."

My father grabbed my shoulder again, his fingers digging in painfully. "Enough!"

"No, not enough," I shot back, yanking free of his grip. "For years I've kept quiet while you favored Ivy over me. While you let Eleanor treat me like garbage in my own home. While you stole my mother's company and legacy. I'm done being silent!"

"You ungrateful little—" His face contorted with rage. "I gave you those shares today!"

"You didn't give me anything! Those shares were mine by right. My mother's legacy, which you stole!"

The wedding guests watched in horrified fascination as our family drama unfolded.

"You're just like your mother," my father sneered. "Always playing the victim."

"And you're still the same cruel man who broke her heart and drove her to her grave," I shot back. "No wonder she killed herself rather than spend another day with you!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd at my words.

"Ivy may be dying of cancer," I continued, my voice rising, "but you've been poisonous all your life!"

Ivy wailed louder, playing to the crowd. "See how cruel she is? On my wedding day!"

I turned to her, beyond caring about appearances now. "Oh, save your crocodile tears, Ivy. You're not the innocent little victim here. You're a snake who crawled into my garden and Julian is the rat who followed you into your nest."

That was when my father lunged at me, his face purple with rage. His hands closed around my throat as he slammed me against the nearest wall.

"You will not disrespect this family!" he roared.

I clawed at his hands, gasping for air, dimly aware of the screams around us. His hatred, the hatred he'd always harbored for me, was finally on full display for everyone to see.

And in that moment, as I fought against my own father's grip, I realized I was no longer afraid of him.