Chapter 3

The Von Merri Grand Hotel was a symphony of excess. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, and the air hummed with the chatter of Ninverton's elite. Clarissa Barlowe's wedding was the social event of the season, and everyone who was anyone was there.

Genevieve, a vision in a sapphire gown, moved through the crowd with a practiced smile plastered on her face. Her hand was tucked into the arm of Jett Maddox, who wore his victory like a custom-tailored suit.

"Where's Connor?" a guest asked, her eyes scanning the room.

"Oh, he's not feeling well," Genevieve replied, her voice a perfect blend of concern and disappointment. "A terrible headache. He sends his regrets."

She repeated the lie a dozen times, each one smoother than the last.

Jett, meanwhile, had a different agenda. He spotted his target across the ballroom: Eleonora Barlowe, the family's matriarch, a formidable old woman with eyes like chips of granite and a spine of steel. She despised Connor, viewing him as a stain on the family's pristine lineage.

Jett approached her, his face a mask of grim reluctance.

"Eleonora," he began, his voice low and serious. "There's something you need to know about Connor's absence."

He proceeded to weave a masterful tale of deceit. He claimed he'd seen Connor the night before, checking into a cheap motel with another woman. A sordid, pathetic affair.

To add a touch of authenticity, he pulled out his phone and showed her a blurry, heavily pixelated photo of a man's back. It could have been anyone.

"I couldn't believe it," Jett said, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. "To betray Genevieve is one thing, but to do it on the eve of her cousin's wedding... it's an insult to the entire Barlowe family."

Eleonora's face, already a stern mask, hardened into a furious scowl. The story confirmed every one of her prejudices against her low-born son-in-law.

Just then, Genevieve drifted over, her eyes artfully reddened, playing the part of the heartbroken victim to perfection. It was the final push Eleonora needed.

"This will not stand!" the old woman's voice was a low growl, cutting through the nearby chatter. "This family will not be shamed!"

She turned to her head of security, a hulking man in a tight-fitting suit. "Find him. Use every resource we have. I don't care where he is, find that worthless parasite."

Jett casually added, "I heard he's still driving that pathetic Uber. That might be a place to start."

"Find him and bring him here," Eleonora commanded, her voice ringing with cold fury. "He will get on his knees and beg Genevieve for forgiveness in front of everyone."

Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. The story, embellished with each telling, painted Connor as a degenerate monster. The mood shifted from celebration to a kind of bloodthirsty anticipation.

Alistair and Preston Barlowe, the fathers of the bride and Genevieve, respectively, joined the circle, their faces grim with anger. The full weight of the Barlowe clan was now mobilized for a singular purpose: to hunt down and publicly crucify Connor.

Miles away, in a quiet downtown coffee shop, Connor sipped an espresso. He was reading the file Finchley had sent him, a detailed breakdown of Donovan Industries' every vulnerability, every dirty secret.

His phone, resting on the table, displayed a live news feed from outside the Von Merri. He knew they were coming for him. He was counting on it.

At the wedding, Jett smirked, seeing his plan fall perfectly into place. He sent a quick text to Brody Barlowe, Genevieve's cousin and a notorious bully.

Get ready. We're about to have some fun.

Eleonora patted Genevieve's arm. "Don't you worry, my dear," she said, her voice like gravel. "We will make him pay. We will teach him his place."

Jett smirked. He had pulled a lot of strings to get Ms. Vexler, a VP from the Hoffman Group, to make a brief appearance later-a perfect power play to impress the Barlowes. Now, he had the perfect opening act. He excused himself and made a call.

"Gregory? Jett Maddox here. I need a little favor..."

He was calling Gregory Tanner, the regional manager for Uber. He was going to pinpoint Connor's exact location. There would be no escape.

Connor set his coffee cup down. He looked out the window at the bustling street, his eyes calm and deep, waiting.