Chapter 6 - The Fall of the House of Sterling
The fallout outside the bridal suite was instant and catastrophic.
Through the wide glass windows, we watched the fairytale wedding dissolve into absolute chaos. Julian Montgomery Sr., the patriarch of the Montgomery empire, stood up in the front row, his face purple with rage. He gestured wildly to his family, ordering all seventy of the Montgomery guests to vacate the venue immediately.
"The wedding is canceled!" Julian Sr.’s voice boomed across the garden, carrying over the manicured hedges. "Get the cars! We are done here!"
Socialites were standing on white folding chairs, recording the looping video on their phones. Reporters from the Society Gazette, who had been invited to cover the "wedding of the decade," were frantically calling their editors, pitching the story of the century.
Inside the suite, my mother, Blythe, dropped to her knees among the ruined rose petals, clutching her head and wailing like a tragic opera character.
"Everything... everything is ruined!" Blythe sobbed, her voice echoing off the gilded walls. "Our reputation! The Montgomery merger! My life is over!"
My father, Judson, stood frozen, staring at his phone as it began to buzz relentlessly. It was his corporate board members, his investors, his public relations firm—all calling at once as the video began to leak onto social media platforms in real-time.
Sloan stumbled back against the vanity mirror, her hand clutching her chest, her breathing shallow and ragged. The lace ballgown that was supposed to crown her as Richmond's newest elite bride now felt like a straightjacket.
"You... you destroyed me," Sloan whispered, her eyes locked on mine with a terrifying blend of rage and despair. "You ruined my life, Merritt!"
"No, Sloan," I said, my voice cool, steady, and utterly devoid of pity. "You destroyed yourself the moment you decided that my physical agony was a punchline. You thought you were untouchable because Mom and Dad have spent twenty years enabling your cruelty. I just turned on the lights."
The heavy oak doors of the suite swung open once more.
This time, it wasn't a panicked guest or a coordinator. Two uniformed Richmond Police officers stepped into the room, flanked by my friend Clara and a representative from the Commonwealth Attorney’s Office.
The lead officer, Sergeant Vance, held a printed document.
"Sloan Sterling?" Sergeant Vance asked, his voice cold and professional.
Sloan blinked, looking confused through her tears. "What... what is this?"
"You are under arrest for aggravated assault resulting in severe bodily harm and reckless endangerment," Sergeant Vance announced, stepping forward with a pair of steel handcuffs.
Blythe let out a blood-curdling shriek from the floor. "Arrested?! You can't arrest her! She’s the bride! This is a family matter!"
"Ma'am, step back," the secondary officer ordered firmly, putting a hand up to keep my mother from intercepting them. "We have reviewed the high-definition video evidence of the incident at the grand foyer. The act was clearly intentional and resulted in catastrophic physical injury."
Sloan backed away, her hands pressed against the mirror. "No! Get away from me! Dad! Tell them who you are! Do something!"
Judson reached for his phone, his voice shaking. "I... I will call our legal team! I will call the Police Chief!"
"Call whoever you want, Judson," Clara interjected, stepping into his line of sight. "The Commonwealth Attorney has already reviewed the tape. Given the severity of Merritt's injuries, this is a Class 4 felony. Bail will not be set until Monday morning."
The lead officer grabbed Sloan’s wrists, bringing them behind her back. The sharp, mechanical clack-clack of the steel handcuffs locking into place rang out clearly in the silent room.
Sloan began to scream—a ugly, guttural, pathetic sound stripped of all high-society sophistication—as the officers turned her around and began guiding her out of the suite in her fifty-thousand-dollar wedding gown.
As she was paraded past me, her veil trailing behind her on the floor, she looked at me one last time.
"Merritt, please!" Sloan sobbed, her arrogance finally completely obliterated. "Tell them it was a joke! Please!"
I looked into her panicked eyes, reached down, and smoothed the fabric of my emerald-green blazer.
"It wasn't a joke, Sloan," I said softly. "It was justice."
They dragged her down the grand hallway, her hysterical screams echoing through the historic estate, carrying out onto the lawn where three hundred guests—and twenty news cameras—were waiting to record every second of her exit.
Clara stepped behind my motorized wheelchair, resting her hands on the handles. "Ready to get out of here, Merritt?"
May you like
I took a deep, clean breath—the first real breath I had drawn since my knee snapped on the marble stone.
"Take me to the hospital, Clara," I smiled. "I have a surgery to prepare for."
