13 A Toast to the Traitors
“Wait, sister,” Ivy called out, her voice sickly sweet. 1
I froze midstep. The microphone was still in my hand as Ivy’s bony fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me back to center stage. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone supposedly
at death’s door.
The wedding guests stared. Their hungry eyes watched this cruel spectacle unfold. I could almost hear their thoughts: _Poor Hazel, publicly humiliated by her own family.__
I refused to look weak. Standing tall, I met Ivy’s gaze. Her eyes gleamed with malice beneath her
mask of innocence.
“I want to thank my dear sister,” she announced, clinging to my arm like we were best friends. “Without Hazel’s sacrifice, this beautiful day wouldn’t be possible.”
Sacrifice? I hadn’t sacrificed anything. Everything had been taken from me.
Ivy turned to the crowd, her voice breaking with fake emotion. “When the doctors told me I only had months to live, I thought I’d die with regrets. But Hazel-” she squeezed my arm tighter “— gave up her own happiness so I could experience true love before I go.”
The guests murmured sympathetically. Several women dabbed at their eyes.
“Isn’t she the most selfless sister anyone could ask for?”
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth might crack. Selfless? She’d stolen my fiancé, my wedding dress, and now she was stealing my dignity with this performance.
Cameras flashed. Of course Tanya had hired photographers to capture this moment. Tomorrow, these pictures would be splashed across society pages–Hazel Shaw, the jilted fiancée, forced to witness her replacement’s triumph.
“A toast to my sister!” Ivy declared, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter. Her hand. trembled slightly+the only genuine thing about her.
A server appeared at my side, offering champagne. I took it, my fingers tight around the delicate
stem.
“To Hazel,” Ivy said, raising her glass. “May you someday find someone who loves you as much as
Alistair loves me.”
The guests raised their glasses. Even my father joined in, his eyes warning me to behave.
I glanced at Alistair. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, instead staring at his new bride with adoration. Six years of my life, countless blood donations to keep him alive, and he couldn’t even look me in the eye.
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13 A Toast to the Traitors
“Speech!” someone called from the crowd. Others joined in, demanding more entertainment at
my expense.
My stepmother smirked from her front–row seat. She’d orchestrated this whole humiliation. I could see it in her eyes.
Ivy nudged me. “Say something, sister dear.”
The microphone felt heavy in my hand. I could storm off, but that’s what they expected- another emotional outburst they could gossip about for months.
Instead, I smiled. Not the trembling smile of a victim, but the cold, sharp smile of someone who had nothing left to lose.
“To the bride and groom,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “May your marriage last exactly as long as it deserves to.”
A hush fell over the room. I took a deliberate sip of champagne, savoring the moment.
“And to my dear stepsister,” I continued, turning to face her directly. “I hope you enjoy wearing my dress and my ring. And Alistair—” I finally looked at him “—I hope you remember our years together whenever you look at her.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Tanya half–rose from her seat, fury contorting her features.
Ivy’s grip on my arm tightened painfully. “Hazel, please-”
“Please what?” I asked quietly, for her ears only. “Haven’t I given you enough?”
I pulled away from her grasp and handed the microphone to a stunned waiter. With deliberate calm, I walked down the steps from the stage, head high despite the whispers surrounding me.
My father intercepted me before I could reach my seat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.
“Congratulating the happy couple,” I replied. “Isn’t that what witnesses do?”
His face reddened. “You’re making a scene.”
“I’m not the one who turned a wedding into a public humiliation.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. Sinclair watching our exchange. Unlike the other guests who pretended not to eavesdrop while clearly listening to every word, he made no attempt to hide his interest.
“You ungrateful-” Father began, but stopped abruptly when Mr. Sinclair stood up.
“Is there a problem here?” Mr. Sinclair asked, his deep voice carrying just enough authority to make my father hesitate.
“Family matter,” Father replied stiffly.
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13 A Toast to the
Traitor
“Then perhaps you should discuss it somewhere private,” Mr. Sinclair suggested, “rather than in front of two hundred wedding guests.”
I felt a surge of gratitude toward this stranger who’d now defended me twice. His calm confidence seemed to radiate outward, creating a protective bubble around us.
Father’s jaw worked as he struggled to maintain his composure. Behind him, Tanya was making her way toward us, eyes blazing with rage.
“This isn’t over,” Father warned me before retreating to intercept Tanya. I watched him whisper urgently in her car, his hand gripping her elbow as she tried to pull away.
I turned to Mr. Sinclair. “Thank you.”
He nodded slightly. “You handled yourself admirably up there.”
“Did I? I feel like I just poured gasoline on a fire.”
“Sometimes fires need to burn.” His eyes met mine, dark and knowing. “Especially when they’ve been smoldering unseen for too long.”
Something in his words resonated deeply within me. This man somehow understood exactly what I was feeling.
The wedding coordinator clapped her hands, announcing it was time for the first dance. Guests began migrating toward the dance floor, their attention momentarily diverted from the drama.
“Would you like to leave?” Mr. Sinclair asked quietly.
I glanced toward the exit, tempted by his offer. Then I saw Ivy watching me from across the room, her expression calculating despite the tears streaming down her face. Alistair hovered beside her, rubbing her back soothingly while shooting accusatory glances in my direction.
If I left now, I’d be giving them exactly what they wanted–confirmation that they’d broken me.
“No,” I said, finding strength I didn’t know I had. “I’m staying.”
Mr. Sinclair raised an eyebrow but didn’t question my decision. Instead, he extended his hand. “In that case, would you care to dance?”
As Alistair led Ivy onto the dance floor for their first waltz, I placed my hand in Mr. Sinclair’s. “I’d
love to.”
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