Audrey stared down at him. The flat, dead stare she usually reserved for boardrooms cracked. Something violently human flickered in her eyes. She looked at his bleeding hands. She looked at the cheap, soaking wet tuxedo. She looked at the exhaustion etched deep into the lines of his face. She didn’t speak to him. Instead, without breaking eye contact with Dean, she raised her right hand and snapped her fingers. The sound echoed through the dead silent hall. Three massive men in dark suits detached themselves from the shadows near the exits. The head of her personal security detail materialized at her elbow. Audrey finally broke eye contact with Dean. She slowly turned her head to look at Preston. The groom had gone entirely pale. Preston, Audrey said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. Take off your jacket.
Preston laughed. It was a thin, reedy sound that died almost immediately in the cavernous room. He looked at Audrey, then at his friends, waiting for someone to share the joke. No one moved. The air in the room had turned to lead. Audrey, darling, Preston said, his voice dropping an octave, trying to project a calm, patronizing authority. I think you’ve misunderstood. This guy was— I didn’t ask for a summary. Audrey’s voice was completely flat. Take off the jacket, Preston. Preston’s perfect, manicured face flushed a deep, ugly red. The humiliation was beginning to burn through his arrogance. “I am not undressing in the middle of our reception because some clumsy basement clerk dropped—” Audrey took one step forward. It was a small movement, but it carried the gravitational pull of a collapsing star. “You are bankrupt, Preston.” She said. She didn’t yell. She didn’t have to. In the absolute silence of the hall, her words carried to the darkest corners. “Your family’s shipping firm is leveraged to the hilt. You owe 3.4 million dollars in back taxes. Your trust fund dried up the year we met. And you’ve been paying your tailor with a line of credit secured against a summer house your mother doesn’t even own anymore.”
The collective intake of breath from the surrounding guests was audible. Preston stumbled back a half step as if she had physically struck him. The color drained entirely from his face leaving him a sickening chalky white. “Audrey stop.” he hissed. His eyes darting frantically to the crowd. His peers. His judges. “Not here. I paid for this wedding.” Audrey continued. Her tone relentless, mechanical. “I paid for the imported roses. I paid for the vintage champagne. I paid for the bespoke suit you are currently wearing. I bought you, Preston, because my board of directors wanted me to soften my image. They wanted a husband. They wanted a prop.” She tilted her head. Her dark eyes were devoid of anything resembling mercy. “And you were a very expensive prop. But right now you are a defective one. Take off the jacket.”
Preston looked at his friends. The tall groomsman who had been sneering at Dean two minutes ago, was suddenly studying his own shoes, stepping subtly away from Preston. The herd was culling the weak. In their world, poverty was a disease, and Audrey had just diagnosed Preston as terminal. Preston’s hands trembled. He reached up, his fingers fumbling clumsily with the silk-covered buttons of his tuxedo jacket. He pulled it off his shoulders. The custom lining flashed in the light. “Drop it.” Audrey said. Preston let it fall. It landed on the marble floor, inches from Dean’s kneeling form. “Now.” Audrey said, “get down and wipe up the mess you made.” Preston’s head snapped up. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not kneeling on the floor for some some nobody.” Audrey didn’t raise her voice. She simply looked at the head of her security detail, a massive man named Barrett. Barrett took one step toward Preston. “You will get on your knees.” Audrey said, the ice in her voice cracking into something sharp and vicious. “You will use that $5,000 jacket to wipe up the champagne you spilled, or I will have Barrett drag you out of this estate by your hair. And by Monday morning, I will personally ensure your family’s firm is dismantled and sold for scrap. You will spend the rest of your life answering phones in a cubicle just like his.” She pointed a single, perfectly manicured finger at Dean. “Choose.”
Preston broke. The fight simply evaporated from his spine. The realization that he had entirely miscalculated his worth hit him all at once. He was nothing but a parasite, and the host had just rejected him. Slowly, agonizingly, Preston lowered himself to the floor. The marble was hard and unforgiving. He reached out with shaking hands, grabbed the sleeve of his custom wool jacket, and began to sop up the puddle of alcohol and blood. Dean stayed perfectly still. He was still on his knees, his hands resting on his thighs, the jagged pieces of crystal resting near his boots. He watched Preston scrubbing the floor. The reversal was so violent, so sudden, it made Dean’s head spin. Audrey watched Preston for exactly 10 seconds. Then, she looked up and addressed the silent, staring crowd. “The wedding is canceled,” she announced. “The bar is closed. You all have 20 minutes to vacate the property before security begins towing vehicles.”
Total chaos erupted. The string quartet began frantically packing their instruments. Guests murmured in shocked, panicked whispers, rushing toward the coat check. The great machine of the reception ground to a halt and immediately threw itself into reverse. Audrey ignored them all. She turned her attention back down to Dean. She stepped closer. The hem of her white gown settled over the damp marble. She didn’t care. She reached down, extending her bare hand toward him. “Leave the glass,” she said quietly. Dean looked at her hand. It was pale, uncalloused, the fingernails painted a stark, glossy black. He looked at