Chapter 4 - The Aftermath and the VideoBy eight o'clock that evening, Ethan and I were sitting in the library of my estate on the other side of Nashville. I was wrapped in a plush cashmere robe, sipping a hot cup of chamomile tea, while Ethan stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows into the dark gardens.
The silence between us was heavy, but it was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of two people who had just narrowly escaped a disaster.
"I'm sorry, Mom," Ethan said quietly, turning around to face me. His eyes were red-rimmed. He was hurt—deeply hurt. He had genuinely believed Vanessa was the love of his life. "I am so sorry I let her treat you like that. I am sorry I didn't see through her sooner."
"Ethan, look at me," I said gently, setting my teacup down on the mahogany table. "You have nothing to apologize for. Cruel people are very good at hiding their cruelty behind pretty smiles and expensive clothes. She showed you a mask, and you fell in love with the mask. That is not your fault."
"I was going to build a life with her," he murmured, sitting down in the leather armchair opposite me and burying his face in his hands. "We were planning to buy a house. We were talking about children. How could someone be so fake?"
"Because to people like Vanessa and her parents, life is not about connection—it’s about status," I explained softly. "They view people as steps on a ladder. Those above them are to be worshipped; those below them are to be stepped on. Today, I simply gave her a test. And she failed it with flying colors."
"What are you going to do with the video?" Ethan asked, looking up.
I picked up my phone, which was sitting on the table between us. "I haven't decided yet. But I don't think I'll need to do much. Look at your phone."
Ethan pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. His eyes widened.
During the engagement party, several of the thirty guests—eager to capture high-society drama—had recorded Vanessa spraying me with the hose and Ethan’s subsequent confrontation. Within three hours, short clips of the event had already been uploaded to TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter.
The Internet had done what the Internet does best: it went completely viral.
The videos already had millions of views. The headlines were ruthless:
“Nashville Heiress Sprays Groom’s Billionaire Mother with Hose at Engagement Party!”
“The Ultimate Karma: Society Girl Humiliates Mother-in-Law, Destroys Her Own Wedding in 5 Minutes.”
“Who is Vanessa Mitchell? The Story Behind the Infamous Hose Incident.”
"It's everywhere," Ethan whispered, scrolling through the endless stream of comments, which were overwhelmingly condemnation for Vanessa and praise for Ethan’s immediate defense of me.
"Public opinion is a funny thing," I said, taking another sip of my tea. "It lifts you up when you are fake, but it destroys you the moment the truth comes out. But social media embarrassment is the least of the Mitchells' problems."
"What do you mean?" Ethan asked.
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I picked up my landline and dialed a three-digit extension. "Arthur? It's Eleanor. Initiate the immediate audit of Mitchell Development Corp. Freeze all credit lines, call in the existing ten-million-dollar bridge loan for immediate repayment, and notify our legal team to review all outstanding contracts."
I hung up the phone and looked at my son. "The storm is just beginning."
