Chapter 3 - The Meltdown on the Marble Floor
Tiffany took a tentative step forward, intending to march toward the bridal suite to clean herself up. But as her right foot landed on the smooth, polished marble, the dissolved glue acted like a grease track between her skin and the shoe lining. Her foot shot forward without warning.
She let out a sharp gasp, her hands flailing wildly in the air. She caught the edge of a mahogany display table, dragging down a four-tier arrangement of white orchids with her as she tumbled awkwardly onto the floor. The loud crash echoed across the ballroom, freezing every conversation in the hall.
"Tiffany!" Mark yelled, rushing forward to help his bride up.
"Get away from me!" she snapped in pain and anger, her composure completely shattered. "My shoe! My foot slipped!"
As she sat on the floor, groaning and clutching her ankle, her left shoe slipped completely off her foot. Sticking awkwardly to the bottom of her nude stocking—and partially exposed for everyone to see—was a wet, warped photo paper.
The water had loosened the image, but it hadn't destroyed it. The face of Nick, her handsome personal trainer, grinning shirtless on a beach, was clear as day. Written across his chest in Tiffany’s distinct pink ink were the words: My forever king. Mark pays, but you own me.
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A collective gasp swept through the room. Mark stopped dead in his tracks, his extended hand freezing in mid-air. He looked down at the shoe, then at the photo stuck to her heel, and finally at Tiffany’s pale, horror-stricken face.
"What is that?" Mark asked, his voice low, shaking with a cold, terrifying calm that I had never heard from him before.
