CHAPTER 53: THE WEDDING DISASTER

Eleanor’s POV

Many hours later, I stood frozen at the entrance of the grand reception hall. A shimmering banner proclaimed the "Joining of the Blake and Moore Families," the names feeling like a personal taunt.

Music and the clink of glasses floated out, a symphony of everything I’d spent years trying to escape.

Mira got me a simple but elegant navy dress, a silent armor against the extravagance I knew awaited inside.

"Whoa," Roxy said beside me, her eyes scanning the crowd visible through the open doors. "This place reeks of fake people. I can smell the plastic surgery and the desperation from here."

Mira, looking uncharacteristically severe in a sharp black cocktail dress, squeezed my arm. "Ellie, talk to me. Why are we here? Do you really need to see him marry her? To confirm he’s moved on?" She paused. "He’s been showing you that even before the day you two broke up."

Ouch. The direct hit landed squarely in my chest, stealing my breath.

She’s not wrong, Beatrice chimed in, her tone annoyingly approving.

I shook my head, forcing steel into my spine. "No," I said, my voice low but clear. "I’m here to settle a score."

I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to feel composed, and walk in.

The interior was breathtakingly beautiful, in a cold, sterile way. A high catwalk, flanked by chairs and tables, led to a raised platform where the happy couple held court.

We found some empty seats among the sea of guests who seemed more interested in flaunting their jewels than celebrating the union.

The moment we sat, Mira leaned in, her voice a tense whisper. "I don’t like this, Ellie. What if your emotions get the better of you? If the heartbreak is too much and your wolf takes control..." She sighed, her concern shifting to frustration. "You’re just making it harder to get over a total Dick-son."

My gaze was already locked on the platform. There they were. Dickson, looking smug, and Priscilla.

The MC was droning on, his voice syrupy. "And isn’t it just a testament to their love that nothing could come between them? Not a friend, not even a sister could break this bond!"

He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Speaking of sisters... it’s such a shame Priscilla’s own sister isn’t here to wish her a happy married life. Is that how much she hates her?"

So that was the narrative. Priscilla had painted me as the jealous, hateful villain to a captive audience. A hot, sharp rage ignited in my chest.

Let’s crash this party, Beatrice purred, her voice a dark, thrilling whisper. Let’s show them what a real villain looks like.

The sheer unhinged bloodlust in her suggestion cut through my own anger, leaving behind a strange, icy calm. Beatrice was a menace, but sometimes, her chaos was exactly what I needed.

I stood up. Mira’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Eleanor, no."

I looked down at her, my expression serene. "I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine."

Roxy, on my other side, grinned. "Let her go, Mira. I want to see where this leads. I live for this kind of drama."

Mira hesitated, then released my arm with a worried sigh.

I began to walk forward. A ripple of recognition went through the crowd. Whispers grew into a wave of noise, finally reaching the MC. He spotted me, and his face lit up with faux delight.

"Well, well! It seems I was mistaken! The sister is here! She definitely loves you after all, Priscilla!" he boomed into the microphone. "Come on up, dear! Don’t be shy!"

I took the side stairs, my steps measured and calm as I ascended to the platform. The MC chuckled condescendingly. "I didn’t think you’d show! Or were you just taking so long to use makeup to cover up your puffy eyes from crying too much? Since you won’t be having the happy ending, I mean."

I ignored him completely. My focus was on the couple. Dickson looked stunned, his mouth slightly agape.

Priscilla, however, met my gaze and offered a slow, chilly smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

She made a show of slowly, weakly, getting to her feet. The incurable sickness act. How original. Dickson was instantly at her side, holding her elbow with a performative tenderness that made my skin crawl.

"Oh, Eleanor...," Priscilla breathed, her voice a saccharine whisper amplified by the microphone. "I’m so happy you’re here. Now everything feels... complete." She offered a frail, trembling smile to the adoring crowd before turning back to me. "Thank you for being a part of our celebrations."

She then leaned into Dickson, wrapping her arms around his and gazing up at him with what was supposed to be pure adoration. The message was clear: Look at what you lost. Look at what I have.

Dickson puffed out his chest, playing his part. "The fact that Priscilla had to stand up to greet you says a lot," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Don’t act like you’re the main character here, Eleanor."

I didn’t say a word. I just looked at his face. And he flinched. Just a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch beneath his eye.

The memory surfaced, crisp and satisfying: the sharp crack of my palm meeting his cheeks quite a few times. A wonderful memory, indeed.

As if he could read my mind, his free hand unconsciously came up to cover his cheek.

Priscilla, sensing the shift, quickly intervened. "Ellie, I would love it if you participated in one of the games with me," she chirped, her eyes glinting with a challenge she thought she could win. "I want this to be a truly memorable experience."

The MC seized the opportunity. "What a wonderful idea! Since you’ve graced us with your presence, Eleanor, you should make your sister happy on her special day! Let’s hear it for a little family fun!"

The crowd erupted in applause. They wanted a show. Priscilla wanted to humiliate me in some staged game.

"I’d love to," I said.

Priscilla’s sugary smile faltered for a split second. She hadn’t expected me to agree so easily.

"Wonderful!" the MC crowed. "The game is called the Blindfolded water balloons! The sisters will be blindfolded for a classic water balloon toss while blindfolded!"

Minutes later, the platform had been cleared. A blindfold was handed to me. Across the space, I could see Mira, her face pale, frantically shaking her head and mouthing, ’Don’t! It’s a trick! Get out!’

I gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod before tying the silk securely over my eyes. I knew it was a trick. That was the point.

"Ladies, are you ready?" the MC called out.

"Yes," we both replied.

Darkness. But my other senses came to life. I felt the shift in the air a moment before the first balloon sailed toward me. I sidestepped it easily. It splattered harmlessly on the floor behind me.

"Ooh, a lucky dodge!" the MC announced, his voice tinged with surprise.

I focused, tuning my hearing to the subtle whoosh of the next projectile. I ducked. Another miss. And another. And another. I moved with a fluid grace I didn’t know I possessed, each dodge more effortless than the last.

"This is, uh, getting a bit predictable!" the MC said, frustration seeping into his voice. "Let’s take it up a notch! Throw more than one!"

The air became a chaotic mess of incoming objects. I weaved through most, but one caught me squarely on the arm, the cold water soaking through my sleeve. The crowd roared with laughter.

"Now that’s what I’m talking about!" the MC cheered.

I dodged a few more, took another hit on my shoulder. Beatrice was seething. This is pathetic! Let me take over! I’ll show them just how wack this is.

But I was focused on something else. I could hear it Priscilla’s light, tinkling laughter from the side of the platform. She wasn’t even in the game with me. Dickson was probably holding her, keeping her safe while I was the sole target.

Then, my nose caught it. A foul, disgusting smell cutting through the scent of perfume and champagne. It was thick, chemical, and vile. Where was it coming from?

"Time’s up!" the MC declared. "And the winner, without a single drop on her, is the beautiful bride, Priscilla! And for our loser... a traditional shower of... confetti!"

He was lying. I knew it wasn’t confetti. That smell was coming from the bucket they were preparing. I had to do something. Now.

"I don’t think that’s fair!" I called out, my voice laced with a convincingly wounded tone. I began to shuffle my feet, moving blindly and erratically across the platform. "We should start over! I wasn’t fully ready!"

With each stumbling step, I edged closer to the source of Priscilla’s smug laughter and Dickson’s low murmurs. My enhanced hearing tracked the heavy, sloshing footsteps of the person carrying the bucket. They were moving quickly now, not expecting my movement.

"Whoa!" I cried out, feigning a clumsy dodge as the person lunged toward where I had just been standing. In the same motion, I subtly hooked my foot, catching their ankle.

A yelp, followed by the sound of stumbling. Then, a wet, glugging splash and a simultaneous, horrified scream from Priscilla.

"What the fuck!" Dickson roared.

The crowd erupted in a collective gasp of shock and disgust. The vile, chemical stench exploded through the air.

I pulled the blindfold from my eyes, blinking as if dazed. I let my jaw drop in feigned horror at the scene before me.

Priscilla and Dickson were drenched from head to toe in a slimy, murky liquid, chunks of something unidentifiable clinging to Priscilla’s pristine white dress and Dickson’s tuxedo. They reeked like a blocked sewer.

I put a hand to my mouth, my eyes wide with mock innocence. "Oh my goodness! Are you two okay?" I asked, my voice dripping with false concern. "What happened? Did something... eat you both up and spit you out? You smell... memorable."