Perfect.
I RSVP’d yes.
The wedding was held at the most luxurious resort in The Woodlands. Guests wore designer suits and custom gowns. Crystal chandeliers sparkled over a perfectly manicured garden aisle.
Mark stood at the altar, smug and confident.
As I approached the entrance, I heard whispers.
“Isn’t that his ex-wife?”
“I heard she’s broke.”
“Why would he even invite her?”
Mark smirked when he saw me walking toward the venue. He clearly expected me to arrive alone, embarrassed, defeated.
Then—
The deep roar of an engine cut through the air.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up to the red carpet. Behind it, two black SUVs with security.
The music faltered.
Mark’s face drained of color.
A driver stepped out and opened the rear door.
I emerged wearing a custom red gown tailored in Paris, diamond necklace resting against my collarbone, Christian Louboutin heels clicking against the pavement.
The “broke” ex-wife now looked like royalty.
But I wasn’t finished.
I turned and opened the second door.
“Come on, sweethearts,” I said gently.
Two five-year-old girls stepped out, identical in white silk dresses.
Their faces were unmistakable.
Mark’s eyes. Mark’s jawline. Mark’s expression.
