Chapter 4 - The Prelude to the Fall
The rehearsal dinner progressed through a blur of clinking champagne glasses, polite applause, and superficial toasts. I sat at the far end of the head table, my right leg propped up on a spare chair hidden beneath the floor-length linen tablecloth.
Across the room, I could see Sutton laughing loudly with her friends, basking in the pre-wedding adoration. Yet, every time her eyes drifted toward me, her smile tightened. She hated that I was drawing any visual focus away from her. The black brace, no matter how much I tried to conceal it under the blush-pink silk dress, was a reminder of reality in her fantasy world.
Alden slipped into the empty seat next to me, sliding a small plate of grilled salmon and vegetables across the table.
“You barely touched your lunch,” Alden said quietly. “Eat something. You need your strength.”
“Thanks, Alden. Honestly, I’m just exhausted,” I admitted, rubbing my eyes. “The pain medication makes me woozy, and the tension in this room is suffocating.”
“Your parents are entirely self-absorbed,” he remarked, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I’ve been watching how they interact with you. It’s disgusting. You survived a horrific workplace accident, you’re recovering from major orthopedic surgery, and they’re treating you like a faulty prop that won't fit on the stage.”
I looked at him, surprised by his fierce perceptiveness. “Most people in my family think I brought it on myself by choosing a ‘dangerous’ career. If I’d gone into event styling like Sutton, I’d probably be their favorite child.”
“Their loss,” Alden said firmly, pouring me a glass of sparkling water. “Some people build things that fly. Others just throw parties. I know which one takes actual courage.”
His words warmed a cold space inside my chest that had been frozen for years. For the first time all weekend, I felt seen.
Across the room, Sutton noticed Alden talking to me. Her expression darkened into an unmistakable scowl. She whispered something to Briany, who nodded eagerly and lifted her phone once more, framing us in the camera view.
I didn't think much of it at the time. I was too tired, too physically depleted to care about my cousin's endless social media documentation.
As dinner wound down, the wedding planner announced that everyone needed to gather near the grand foyer for a final run-through of the evening exit.
“Okay, wedding party! Let’s assemble by the staircase. We want to practice the grand sparkler exit for tomorrow night!” the planner shouted over the chatter.
The group began migrating toward the sweeping stone staircase. I stood up carefully, using my crutch to stabilize myself as I made my way toward the base of the stairs. My knee throbbed with a dull, persistent ache—a warning sign that I had pushed my limits too far.
“Fallon, you don’t need to do the exit rehearsal,” Alden said, stepping up beside me. “Just wait at the bottom.”
“No, it’s fine,” I insisted, wanting to just get through the final obligation of the evening. “I’ll walk up to the first landing and wait there.”
I began the slow, agonizing climb back up the stone steps. The marble was slick, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the crystal chandeliers overhead. I gripped the wrought-iron banister tightly with my right hand, my left arm supporting my crutch.
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Halfway up the staircase, the rest of the bridal party had already congregated near the top landing. I paused to catch my breath, my muscles burning from the exertion.
That was when I heard the quick, sharp click of heels on stone rushing up behind me.
