Chapter 5: The Projection
The ceremony began right on time.
Despite the tension, despite the rumors now swirling between relatives like wildfire, Brandon stood tall beneath the archway of white roses. His fiancé, Danielle, looked perfect—almost too perfect. Her smile was fixed, her posture military-straight, but her eyes kept flicking toward us. toward me and Nathaniel.
Rows of guests turned in their seats when we approached. We didn’t sneak in quietly. We walked down the center aisle like we belonged there. Because we did. I wasn’t hiding anymore. Nathaniel held my hand, and this time, I didn’t let go either. We took our seats in the second row.
My mother sat three chairs away, her body stiff, lips pressed into a tight line. Aunt Carol didn’t even glance at us. But the bridesmaids were all whispering. The groomsmen looked uneasy. Even the wedding planner kept checking her headset like she could sense something was about to go wrong.
She wasn’t wrong.
Just as the officiant cleared his throat to begin, a soft, “Excuse me,” came from the side of the stage.
Everyone turned. A young man in a gray suit stepped forward, holding a clipboard and a badge. He handed something to Brandon, then whispered quickly in his ear.
Brandon’s eyes widened. Danielle leaned in, whispering sharply. He shook his head, looking terrified, then looked directly at me.
“What the hell is this?” he called out suddenly, forgetting the microphone was live.
Whispers rippled through the audience.
Nathaniel stood up calmly, smoothly adjusting his cuffs. “That,” he said, “is a legal document confirming that, effective today, the venue, the event sponsor, and even your media rights belong to a trust.”
Brandon blinked. “A what? A trust?”
Nathaniel repeated the word, sliding his hand into his pocket. “Owned by my wife.”
The gasps were loud this time.
I stood, my voice quiet but firm. “You see, while you all were busy mocking me, I was building. And everything you used to brag about owning—the rights to the photos, the streaming deal, even the lakefront branding you sold to guests to cover the costs—it’s all mine now.”
Danielle turned pale. “Wait… our wedding video? The livestream?”
“Mine,” I replied.
She stepped forward, her voice cracking. “This was supposed to go live on a luxury bridal network! We have contracts!”
Nathaniel stepped between us, his tone clipped. “Not anymore.”
Brandon’s fists clenched. “Why would you do this on my day?”
I looked at him. Really looked at him.
“You mean the day you and Mom tried to humiliate me? The day you told people I was an embarrassment? The day my own clothes were destroyed just to keep me from looking ‘decent’ in front of your rich friends?”
“Silence,” Nathaniel commanded. “You tried to erase her. We made sure that wouldn’t happen again.”
Then, right on cue, the venue’s large outdoor projector screen—the one set to play their rehearsal dinner highlights—flickered on.
Only instead of the wedding montage set to Ed Sheeran, it played security footage.
Grainy, but unmistakable. It was footage of my mom sitting in my guest room, slashing holes in my dresses with a pair of kitchen scissors. My Aunt Carol was laughing beside her, holding a glass of wine.
A few relatives gasped. Someone in the back row shouted, “Oh my god.”
Danielle backed away from Brandon. He turned to my mother. “Did you? Did you actually…?”
She stammered, her face turning a violent shade of crimson. “It was just a joke! A petty joke!”
The projector cut again.
Now it was footage from the living room, taken months ago. Brandon was laughing with his friends, holding a beer. “Hannah? God, no. She’s a disaster. Nobody would ever want her. She’s the family charity case.”
Danielle smirked in the background of the video.
The room didn’t gasp this time. It went silent.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I didn’t run. I just stood there, steady in my sapphire dress. Nathaniel gently placed a hand on the small of my back, a quiet signal that it was over.
But I wasn’t finished.
