Chapter 1 - The Outcast at Table NineteenThe silence in the grand Vermont ballroom was absolute. Every guest, draped in designer gowns and expensive suits, had turned their attention toward the entrance. But Emmett Stewart, the billionaire tech mogul whose mere presence could cause stocks to fluctuate, didn’t care about the elite crowd waiting to greet him.
His eyes scanned the room, bypassing the VIP tables where my brother Nicholas stood with a practiced, winning smile plastered across his face. Emmett’s gaze locked onto the back corner, right beside the swinging kitchen doors.
He crossed the polished hardwood floor with long, purposeful strides. The murmurs died down instantly.
He pulled out the empty plastic chair beside me at Table Nineteen—right between a sleeping Great-Aunt Beatrice and a four-year-old covered in green crayon—and sat down.
“Jenna,” Emmett said, his voice carrying clearly through the hushed room. “I’ve been looking everywhere for the brilliant writer who saved my company last week.”
The color completely drained from Nicholas’s face.
Just minutes earlier, Nicholas had shoved me into this humiliating corner. To him, I was merely the embarrassing older sister whose obscure lifestyle blog didn’t fit into the high-society world he was desperately trying to marry into. He had ordered me away from the entrance, warning me not to ruin his wedding photos, not to speak to important people, and definitely not to embarrass him.
He had no idea that the viral keynote speech he had spent the last week praising—the masterpiece that sent Stewart Technologies soaring by thirty percent—was written by me at two in the morning in a pair of faded sweatpants.
“Mr. Stewart,” I said, keeping my voice calm as I wiped a smudge of ketchup off a toddler's plastic cup. “I didn't expect you to make it all the way out here to the back.”
“Out here?” Emmett chuckled, leaning back in his chair with an easy, confident grace that completely ignored the absurdity of our surroundings. “Jenna, your words put me on that stage. The least I could do is come find the person responsible for my success. Besides, the view back here is far more honest than what’s happening at the front.”
Across the room, Nicholas looked like he might actually faint. Our mother dropped her champagne flute, the glass shattering against the floor with a sharp crack that broke the heavy silence.
Nicholas hurried over, his designer shoes clicking frantically against the floorboards. His face was twisted in a mixture of blind panic and white-hot fury. He reached our table, huffing slightly, trying desperately to salvage the carefully constructed image of wealth and influence he had spent years curating.
“Mr. Stewart!” Nicholas stammered, extending a trembling hand while shooting a murderous glare in my direction. “I am Nicholas, the groom. It is an absolute honor. We have a table prepared for you right up front, with our most distinguished investors. Please, let us escort you away from... well, from this distraction.”
Emmett didn't even look up at my brother. He kept his steady, sharp eyes locked on me, resting his chin on his hand as if he were sitting in a private boardroom rather than a preschool corner.
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“Distraction?” Emmett asked slowly, his tone dropping a few degrees colder. “Nicholas, isn't it? Your sister isn't a distraction. In fact, if it weren't for her mind, your little gathering here wouldn't even be happening in a venue this nice. Now, sit down or go away. We were just discussing narrative structure.”
The gasp that echoed through the ballroom was collective. Nicholas stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, completely paralyzed by the utter destruction of his perfect wedding day.
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