Roland’s jaw tightened, his fingers white around the lapel of his tuxedo.
“You’ve been… absent,” Naomi said, voice low but fierce. “Five years of silence, and now you’re supposed to marry someone else?”
The bride‑to‑be, her face a mask of shock, swallowed hard, her hand clutching the veil.
“We have the evidence,” Naomi whispered, eyes never leaving Roland’s. “Now answer.”
Lawyer’s Desperate Suppression and a Shocking Playback
A sleek black suit appeared at the doorway, the lawyer’s polished shoes clicking against the stone.
“Ms. Ashby, you cannot—” he began, thrusting a glossy folder toward Naomi.
“Stop,” she snapped, slamming the folder shut. “You think you can bury this?”
She reached into her coat, pulling out a small, weather‑worn recorder.
“Ladies and gentlemen, listen,” Naomi said, pressing play.
The courtyard filled with Roland’s own voice, raw and unguarded.
“I’m sorry, Naomi,” he said, the tape crackling. “I never meant to— I’m scared. I’ll provide for the kids, but you have to understand I can’t… I can’t be… a part of this now.”
The sound stopped; a deafening silence settled.
Roland’s face fell, color draining from his skin as the recording replayed his confession.
The bride‑to‑be stepped forward, fury blazing. “If you think this ends here, you’re wrong,” she hissed, glaring at Roland. “I will take this to the press.”
Naomi lifted the recorder, eyes locked on the trembling man.
“Your secrets are out, Roland,” she said, voice steady. “Now we hear the rest.”
The Bride’s Fury
“Roland, you think you can hide behind that smug smile while I stand here with my future torn to shreds?” Evelyn’s voice trembled, but the edge of steel in it cut the marble air.
