Northstar
My sister blocked the church doors minutes before her wedding and told me I could watch the ceremony from the back, but that I was forbidden from the reception, because Preston’s wealthy family could not be allowed to discover that her sister collected garbage on airplanes.
Our parents defended her. They said she had every right to protect her reputation on her wedding day.
I did not beg. I ended the relationship, walked out of the church, and climbed into a chauffeured car bound for a private hangar where six silver jets carried the emblem of Northstar Executive Air, the company I had built from nothing and which was, that September morning, valued at just over seventy million dollars.
The church doors were less than ten feet away when Vanessa planted herself in front of me. “You can attend the ceremony, Claire. But you are not welcome at the reception.”
For a moment I thought the organ had swallowed part of the sentence.
Behind my sister, sunlight came through the stained glass and scattered crimson and cobalt across the stone floor. Guests in tailored suits and glittering dresses moved around us carrying white roses and expensive perfume and the low murmur of people who believe they belong somewhere exclusive.
Vanessa looked flawless in ivory. Her dark hair was swept beneath a cathedral veil and crystals sparkled at her throat. Her expression was colder than the marble under our feet.
I lifted the cream colored invitation she had mailed me. “You invited me.”
“Mom insisted I send you something.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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