Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
Saturday arrived with a cold, pristine sky over Lake Michigan.
By noon, the grand entrance of the St. Regis Chicago was choked with luxury sedans, flower delivery trucks, and high-society guests dressed in black-tie attire. The Brooks-Adams wedding was being covered by three local lifestyle magazines as the "corporate union of the year."
Inside my private suite at a boutique hotel three blocks away from the venue, a team of professional stylists hired by Evelyn were finishing my preparations.
I wore a floor-length, high-collared gown of deep midnight emerald silk. The color was chosen deliberately—it was my grandmother’s favorite shade, representing resilience and quiet authority. The fabric draped elegantly over my body, completely concealing any physical signs of recent childbirth, while giving me a regal, imposing posture. My hair was swept back into a sleek, flawless chignon, and around my neck hung a simple, priceless vintage emerald necklace that had belonged to my family for three generations.
In the corner of the room sat a custom-designed, matte-black baby carrier, lined with pure white cashmere. Maya sat inside, dressed in a soft white silk gown, fast asleep, completely blissfully unaware of the storm her mother was about to unleash.
Arthur Pendelton stepped into the room, wearing a classic pinstripe tuxedo. Beside him stood four men in dark tailored suits—not bodyguards, but certified federal process servers and forensic accountants carrying locked leather briefcases.
"The venue is fully packed, Mia," Arthur reported, checking his pocket watch. "Over three hundred guests. The press is stationed in the main lobby. Adrian’s mother, Eleanor Brooks, has spent the last hour bragging to reporters about how Celeste is carrying the 'first legitimate Brooks heir.'"
A bitter, cold laugh escaped my chest. Eleanor Brooks—the woman who had sat across from me at Sunday dinners for seven years, shaking her head every time I brought up fertility treatments, telling me that a woman who couldn't bear children was an "incomplete vessel."
"Has Celeste signed the preliminary sponsorship registry yet?" I asked, pulling on a pair of white silk gloves.
"She’s scheduled to sign it on stage in forty-five minutes, right after the exchange of vows," Arthur confirmed. "The moments after the vows are taken, when the marriage certificate and the sponsorship charter are presented side-by-side on the ceremonial altar."
May you like
I walked over to the black baby carrier, picking it up gently by its leather handle. Maya stirred slightly, opening her tiny, gray-blue eyes—eyes that were an exact, unmistakable replica of Adrian’s.
"Let’s go, Arthur," I said. "It’s time to attend a wedding."
