Chapter 5 - The Mass Exodus
Emmett didn't say another word to Nicholas. He extended his arm toward me.
"Jenna," Emmett said gently, "I believe the air in this room has become quite stale. Would you care to join me for dinner at the estate down the road? I believe they serve food on real porcelain."
I looked around Table Nineteen. Toby was fast asleep with his head on a plush dinosaur. Great-Aunt Beatrice was softly humming to herself. And across the room, my parents were finally walking toward us, having realized that something catastrophic was happening at the back of the hall.
"Jenna! What is going on here?" my mother demanded as she approached, her diamonds sparkling under the venue lights. "Nicholas is crying! Why is Mr. Stewart standing at the children's table?"
I stood up, smoothing the light blue dress.
"Mom," I said, looking her dead in the eye, "Nicholas put me at Table Nineteen because he was ashamed of me. Emmett sat with me because he respects me. That’s all you need to know."
"Ashamed?" my father barked, stepping forward. "Nicholas is the groom! You should be supporting him, not causing a scene with high-profile guests!"
Emmett stepped between my father and me, his massive frame cutting off my father’s aggressive posture instantly.
"Mr. Hayes," Emmett said, his tone carrying the weight of a judge passing sentence, "if you say one more disrespectful word to your daughter, I will personally ensure that every financial backing firm in my network pulls their funding from your investment group by Monday morning."
My father froze. His face went entirely white. He knew Emmett Stewart had the power to do exactly that with a single phone call.
"Let's go, Jenna," Emmett whispered, turning back to me with a warm, protective hand placed softly at the small of my back.
I picked up my small clutch purse, leaving the absurdly expensive Italian espresso machine sitting under Table Nineteen.
As we walked down the center aisle toward the exit, the entire ballroom fell completely silent. Hundreds of eyes—executives, board members, socialites, and my stunned extended family—watched as the billionaire CEO escorted the "desk clerk" sister out of the building.
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Nicholas remained on his knees near the kitchen doors, staring at the empty wooden chair, while Victoria turned on her heel and walked away from him toward her father, her face red with humiliation.
When we stepped out into the crisp, cool evening air of Vermont, the quiet rustle of the leaves felt like the first clean breath I had taken in years.
