The silence in the cathedral was deafening. Mark’s cruel laughter died instantly in his throat as the giant projector screen behind the altar flickered to life. He lunged for the remote in Linda’s hand, panic flashing in his eyes, but his own Best Man stepped in to block him.
“Let’s watch, shall we?” Linda said, her voice steady and cold as ice.
The video wasn’t a montage of their childhood photos or romantic memories. It was grainy, high-definition security footage from inside the bridal suite, timestamped just forty-five minutes ago. The audio boomed through the church speakers: Mark’s voice, clear as day, was heard mocking Linda’s vows while passionately kissing the woman in the red dress—his so-called “cousin.”
“I give it six months,” Mark’s voice echoed in the hall. “Once I get access to her father’s trust fund, I’m filing for divorce and we’re taking the money to Cabo.”
The crowd erupted. The “cousin” turned pale and tried to bolt, but was blocked by angry bridesmaids. Mark’s mother clutched her pearls, gasping for air. Linda didn’t scream or fight. She simply dropped the remote, handed her bouquet to the stunned mistress, and slapped Mark so hard it echoed off the stained glass windows. She walked back down the aisle a free woman, leaving Mark with no bride, no money, and a room full of furious witnesses.
